Just For Me
by secretmonkey
Summary: Amy is trying to move on. Only one problem: she forgot to tell Karma about it. Reamy, Karmy friendship
1. Chapter 1

There are days when Amy wishes she'd just stayed in bed. A box of donuts, a documentary on Netflix, a blanket to pull up over her head and hide under. She'd had more of those days during what Shane refers to as her "Karma phase" than she has recently, but there are still days…

Days like today.

She'd known this was going to be one of those days from the moment her phone buzzed on her way to lunch. From the second she'd read the text from Reagan.

_Party at Shane's. This weekend. Please?_

Amy knows she's going to cave. Hell, she's not even sure why she's going to fight it, except on general principle. She remembers all too well - and Lauren and Shane won't let her forget - how Karma led her around by the nose all those weeks they were faking it. But she knows Reagan's different. She never asks for anything, she'll happily do whatever Amy wants, particularly if it involves making out (which, Amy knows, it usually does).

So, when Reagan does ask for something, Amy gives in. Sometimes without even fighting, though then she doesn't get the eyebrow and the little lip bite and the inevitable making out that those two _always _lead to.

And as she slipped her phone back into her pocket and settled down next to Karma at their usual table out back of the school, nearly dropping her tray in the process, she sighed. She's going to give in. But as she sees Shane making a beeline for their table, she _knows _it isn't going to be that simple. Because, she knows, it just never is.

So it doesn't come as any real surprise to her that Shane is the one to out her, yet again. It's something he seems to have a knack for.

And it's yet another reason to wish she'd stayed in bed.

She knows what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth and as he slides down onto the bench across from her and Karma, Amy's already answering the question he hasn't yet asked.

"No," she says, shaking her head emphatically. "No way."

Shane grins, not dissuaded in the least. "She told you?"

Amy pokes her fork into her mashed potatoes and fixes Shane with the most withering _duh, dumbass_ look she can muster. "Of course," she says. "You may be her new BFF -"

"_G_BF," Shane corrects, the grin still plastered on his face.

"Whatever," Amy says, though even Karma - sitting there confused, lost, and shocked by how quickly this conversation has passed her by is able to pick up on the _does it really fucking matter_ subtext. "You may be her new GBF, but I'm still… _me." _

Shane chuckles. "I should have figured," he says. But then the grin grows bigger and he arches an eyebrow. "Or maybe I did? Maybe I knew she'd tell you? And maybe I knew she'd be able to talk you into it?" He leans his elbows on the table, tilting his head toward her conspiratorially. "I mean, I may _only _be the GBF," he says. "But she's still… _her_."

Amy lets out a throaty chuckle and blushes slightly. Not for the first time she wonders why she ever tells Shane anything. Ever since she'd mentioned that Reagan had "convinced" her to go back to the underground club by using her "lesbian wiles" (Shane's term, not hers), he's been searching for a way to use that against her. To get her to do something she wouldn't normally do.

Like a party. At his house.

Because, Amy thinks, we all know how well that went _last _time.

And Karma looks between the two of them, watches them having a conversation that seems like something out of a World War II codebook to her, and feels confused. Left out.

And she doesn't like it.

But before she can chime in, Amy's speaking again. "She tried, Shane. Really she did." It's a lie. Reagan really trying would have involved more than a texted 'please'. There'd have been donuts. And kisses. And, lately, increasing amounts of bare skin.

Amy blushes again at the thought.

"But," she says, pushing away thoughts of Regan and her lips and that thing she's been doing lately with her tongue. "It isn't happening. Not this weekend or next weekend or any weekend that starts in week and ends in… end."

That sounded so much cooler in her head.

"Come on, Amy." He's treading dangerously close to whining and, no matter what others may think, Shane hates whining. Almost as much as he hates begging. "It's the perfect time. My parents are gone for the weekend, I haven't had a party in almost a month, she's got the whole weekend off…" He tilts his head again, fixes her with the closest thing he's got to _puppy dog eyes_. "This is the perfect time for Reamy to make their public debut."

Amy sighs and fidgets with her fork. She knows she's going to give in, hell, _Shane_ knows it. But she wanted to put up a better fight. She's about to cave when Karma, sensing this might be the only opening she gets, blurts her way into the conversation.

'What's a Reamy?"

And it's as if Amy had forgotten she was even there and, in truth, it wouldn't be the first time Karma has slipped her mind in recent weeks. But now she remembers. Remembers that Karma's been sitting there listening to the entire conversation. Remembers that she and Karma are probably way overdue for a talk about the developments in Amy's life. Remembers that Karma doesn't know and Shane doesn't know that Karma doesn't know…

And oh, _fuck_, this is going to end badly.

Shane rolls his eyes and shakes his head at Karma. "Seriously?" he asks, barely able to hide the annoyance in his voice. Since Karma and Liam became official, he's found himself forced to tolerate her presence even more than usual and, with every passing day, he's found it harder and harder to bite his tongue around her.

Karma looks between them again. She notices the slightly terrified look in Amy's eyes and wonders, briefly, why her best friend is scared. And why, for the first time in their friendship, she doesn't _know_ something about what Amy's feeling.

OK. Maybe not for the _first_ time.

"Sorry, Shane," she says. "I guess we're not all as 'in-the-know' as you."

Shane resists, barely, the urge to explain to Karma all things she doesn't _know_, but focuses instead on the question before him. "Reamy," he says again, simply. "Reagan. Amy." He holds his hands out separately as he speaks, then brings them together. "Reamy." He can't resist one little jab. "You know, like _Karmy_. Only with twice the lesbians."

Yup, Amy thinks, definitely one of _those_ days.

She can feel Karma's eyes on her without looking. And, just like before with Shane, she knows what Karma's going to say before she even speaks.

"Amy?" Karma's voice is quiet, which only makes Amy's insides twist a little bit more. "Who's Reagan?"

Amy stares straight ahead, eyes locked on Shane, and she sees the realization wash over his face.

"Shit," he mutters. "You didn't… I thought…" He drops his eyes to the table as he fully comprehends what he just did. And then, suddenly, his head snaps up and he looks off into the distance. "What? Was that Liam? I think it was!" He jumps to his feet, consciously avoiding looking at Amy because, well, because he doesn't want to die right this second. "Coming, Liam!" And he's off, sprinting across the quad and Amy muses, briefly, that she's never seen him move quite so fast.

"Amy?"

And yet again Amy is reminded that Karma, her best friend since forever, is sitting right next to her. Confused. Left out. Wanting to know who this 'Reagan' is.

Amy makes a mental note to start eating lunch alone. In a closet or under the bleachers or somewhere shit like this just can't happen.

"Reagan's my girlfriend," she says softly, praying it was quiet enough to make it seem like it isn't a big deal, but loud enough that Karma won't need her to repeat it.

"Girlfriend." Karma says it like she's rolling the word around in her mouth, trying to decide if she likes the taste. "Girlfriend," she says again.

Amy hasn't heard that tone since Karma tried one of her mother's kale and turnip muffins when they were twelve. Then, it was followed quickly by a projectile vomiting moment the like of which the Ashcroft kitchen had never seen before.

Amy discreetly slides an inch or two further away from Karma on the bench.

"Since when do you have a girlfriend?"

It's a loaded question and they both know it. If this was a new development, then Shane wouldn't have assumed Karma knew. And if it's not a new development…

Then why the _fuck_, Karma wonders, didn't she know?

"A month," Amy says, noncommittally. "Two?"

Karma's fingers drum on the table top. "I've been with Liam two months," she says. "Two months this weekend."

"OK," Amy says, still refusing to look at Karma. In the back of her mind, she knew that since the day Karma and Liam reunited was, after all, a day she'd spent weeks prepping for only to see it crash, burn, and sink to the depths of hell right in front of her.

"So, maybe it's not _exactly _ two months," Amy says. She does the mental math in her head. "One month, three weeks, four days?' She shrugs. "Give or take."

Karma gets up and moves around the table, sitting down across from Amy, directly in her line of sight, and Amy has no choice but to look at her because looking away now would be so obvious, so weak.

"You've been seeing someone almost as long as I've been with Liam and you never told me?"

Amy shrugs again, mostly for lack of anything better to do. "It's not like it was a secret," she says. And immediately knows that was the wrong tact to take.

"Of course not," Karma snips. "Because we don't keep secrets, _right_?"

In her head, Amy envisions all of the unpleasant things she's going to do to Shane.

"I'm sorry," she says, though apologizing to Karma leaves a taste in her mouth the reminds her _again_ of kale and turnips. "I just… we haven't…" she sighs and shakes her head. "I just hadn't had a chance to tell you." She rubs her hand across the back of her neck, trying to ward off the headache she feels coming. "I mean, come on Karma. This is the first time you've eaten lunch with me - _us_ - in three weeks. And we haven't exactly been scheduling girl's nights on the regular, you know?"

"Seems like you've probably been having a whole different kind of girl's nights," Karma says.

Amy wants to be angry. She wants to fling mashed potatoes off her tray into Karma's face. She _wants_ to demand to know where the hell Karma gets off giving _her _attitude and bitching about _her _keeping secrets and why the absolute _fuck_ Karma thinks she's got any right to be pissed.

Amy wants all that. But she settles for a sigh. And, yet again… 'I'm sorry, Karma."

Karma stares at her across the table, the anger and the hurt etched clearly on her face. She wants to be angry too. And unlike Amy, she's having no trouble embracing it.

"Who else?" she asks. "Who else knows? Who else knew _before_ me?"

Amy wonders if she'd be able to tie Shane to a chair and make him watch Liam and Karma make out for hours on end because, really, that's about the only suitable punishment for this.

"Shane," she she tells Karma. "And Lauren and Theo, but only because they were there the night Reagan and I met." It's a little lie, in the grand scheme. No need to tell Karma about the Booker's party and Shrimp Girl and the momster.

"Anyone else?" Karma presses. This time, she can read Amy and she _knows_ there's something the blonde isn't telling her.

Amy runs a hand through her hair and goes for full honesty, because she knows there's no other way out of this. "My mom and Bruce," she says. "They had Reagan over for dinner, so meeting her was kind of, you know, essential."

If Lauren and Shane and fucking Theo knowing about Reagan before Karma did was bad, then Amy's mom and step-father? That was bad on a level usually reserved for after wedding confessions and birthday scavenger hunt fights.

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?" Karma asks. The anger's drained from her face. She's not mad. She's hurt.

_I'm not angry with you. Just disappointed. _

"Yes, I was," Amy says. She starts to reach across the table to take Karma's hands, but thinks better of it. "I just… I just wanted to find the right time, that's all."

"Like at Shane's party? A party Liam, and therefore me, would most likely be attending? So I could be introduced to Reamy and all their glory with the rest of the Hester High riff-raff?"

And in _that _moment, Amy knows she's well and truly fucked. Because she hadn't once thought about Karma being at the party. She hadn't once even considered it. Her best friend slipped her mind.

Again.

"I wouldn't have done that to you -"

"I can still tell when you're lying, Amy." Karma shakes her head. "At least sometimes." She gets up to leave, clearly pissed, clearly hurt, and clearly in no mood to talk. "Don't worry," she says. "I'll make sure Liam and I don't come to the party. I wouldn't want to embarrass you or ruin your big night."

There's just enough venom behind the words to let Amy know how much finding out this way hurt Karma. And just enough to finally push Amy past guilty right on into pissed off.

"Grow the fuck up, Karma."

Amy's not sure what's more surprising: that the words came out of her mouth or the look on Karma's face when they do.

"Excuse me?"

Amy considers backtracking, for a heartbeat, but then figures, fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"You're pissed at me because I didn't let you know every little detail of my life," she stands as she speaks, mostly because she doesn't want to look _up _at Karma. "Did it ever once cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, I needed something that was mine? Just mine? Not Amy and Karma's, not Hester's, not all tied up in this… whatever this shit is that's been going on with us since _you_ decided to fake it?"

Amy grabs up her bag and her tray. She's not quite done, but she knows that when she is, leaving is going to be her only option.

"Since we sat up there on that roof and I, for whatever idiotic reason, said 'let's be lesbians', I've been rejected, hurt, embarrassed, humiliated, and broken in every way you can imagine." Amy can feel her heart hammering in her chest, but it doesn't bother her. It feels _good_. "So, yeah, I kept something to myself. Something special. Something I had no idea I could ever have and still have no real idea where it's going. I've had one relationship before this, Karma, and in case you forgot that one was fifty percent lies and one hundred percent pain."

"Amy, I-"

Amy cuts her off because, at this point, the 'fuck this shit' train has left the station and it isn't coming back anytime soon.

"I have a girlfriend," she says. "Her name is Reagan. She's 18. She has her own apartment, a couple of jobs, hates cats, loves music, has the sexiest eyebrows you've ever seen, and is hot enough to turn Shane straight." Even thinking about Reagan like this brings a smile to Amy's face, which doesn't go unnoticed by her or by Karma. "My mother loves her, she charmed the shit out of Bruce, she and Shane get along frighteningly well, and last weekend she went shopping with Lauren in Dallas. And _survived_."

Karma stares at the ground. She doesn't know what to say or how to act. Even in their worst fights, Amy never went off like this. It's a side of her best friend she's never seen.

Seems like there's a lot of those lately.

"I'm… _we're_ going to this stupid party this weekend," Amy says. The anger is slowly seeping out of her voice, but there's still an edge to it. "And if you're there, you can meet her. And if not… then… we'll do lunch or something." Karma glances up, slightly relieved that things seem to be calming down. "I'm not trying to hide her from you, Karma. Or you from her. I'm not embarrassed by either of you. I just…"

"You just, what?" Karma asks, finally finding her voice again.

Amy looks at her, dead in the eyes. "I just needed something for me," she says. "Just for a little while. Before the rest of the world comes in, before the Hester bullshit and all our baggage and… everything." She tears her eyes away from Karma then, because she doesn't want to see the look she knows is coming.

"I just needed some time before everything got fucked up again," she says softly. The implication is clear.

Before _you_ fuck things up again, Karma. Before you find some way to mess things up. Like you did with faking it. Like you did with the Brazilians at the carnival. Like the truth or dare game from hell or the scavenger hunt gone wrong or right fucking now.

Amy heads to the nearest trash can to dump her tray. "We'll be at the party," she says. "Maybe we'll see you there."

She walks off to class without looking back, not entirely sure what the hell just happened or what it means or how she's going to fix it or if even can be fixed.

All she knows is one simple thing. She really should have just stayed in bed.


	2. Chapter 2

There are a lot of things Amy misses from the time before she and Karma faked it.

Girl's nights without tension, the need for third wheels, and questions about her masturbation habits.

Having to think about her masturbation habits.

The feel of Karma snuggled up next to her on sleepover nights, without having to worry about boundaries or hands accidentally ending up somewhere they shouldn't.

Knowing her best friend would be the first person she spoke to in the morning and the last one she talked to at night.

Being normal.

Being invisible.

Walking through the halls of Hester, heading for her locker, it's that last one she really misses.

She's thought about it enough that she can group the stares and whispers into three distinct categories:

There was the post "break-up" period (conscious uncoupling, she corrects herself, though it's Karma's voice she hears in her head). That was when everyone looked at her like someone had died, there were still free muffins and donuts, and Irma slipped her a little extra on the mashed potatoes. There were even some flowers, though she's pretty sure those were from Oliver and she tries not to think about that.

Then came the post Karma's confession days when everyone looked at her like they were trying to see inside her, to find out is she was as big a fake as her friend. The muffins and donuts disappeared. Irma cut her potatoes back. And even Oliver couldn't quite look at her.

And now, well, now she had entered into the post Karma and Liam era. This, she thought, was the worst, and not just for the obvious reasons.

She'd expected to disappear again. Now she wasn't a lesbian, as far as anyone knew, she wasn't faking it, and she wasn't dating the hottest guy in school. The day after Karma and Liam went public, Amy had expected to be able to find the nearest woodwork and contentedly disappear back into it.

She should have known better.

Somehow, people had gotten it into their heads that she was the aggrieved party. That Karma and Liam had screwed her over, had probably been carrying on some secret affair ever since the threesome-that-wasn't. That Karma had used her to get popularity and the guy and then left her alone and heartbroken.

It wasn't an altogether inaccurate description of things, she knew, even it was a bit unfair to Karma and, hell, even to Liam (though she was hard pressed to give even a tiny rat's ass about _that_). But she didn't care enough to correct anyone's misconceptions and she figured, wrongly again, that in a day or two the Hester student body would find something new to protest and she would once again be forgotten.

It had been two months (or would be this weekend, as Karma had reminder her) and the looks still hadn't stopped. The looks, the whispers, the sad 'we're so sorry for you' smiles.

If the free donuts had come back, maybe she'd have been alright with it.

But, truthfully, she hated it. She didn't want to be pitied and she sure as hell didn't like having her private pain on display. It was bad enough that Shane and Lauren knew.

Fuck. Who was she kidding? It was bad enough that _Karma _knew. It was bad enough that the worst of the pitying looks came from her own best friend. A best friend who felt so bad about it all that she apologized at least once a day, but not so bad that she stopped dating Liam or holding his hand or managing - somehow - to make out with him within view of Amy at least once a week.

Liam had given her one of those looks, once. A look that seemed to say 'I'm sorry I was willing to steal your girl and then slept with you and still got her back'.

The look Amy gave him back didn't kill him - looks can't do that after all - but she was pretty sure it killed _something_. Shane told her later that he'd heard Liam and Karma arguing and the phrase 'it happens to everyone, it's no _big_ deal' leaving Karma's mouth a day or two later.

All the pity didn't make her feel better, it just made her feel like an idiot. It was hard enough trying to get over everything and get things back to normal. She didn't need the entire population of Hester reminding her of everything that had gone wrong.

That, she knew, was why Shane was so gung-ho on this party (like he really needed a reason). This wasn't the "outing" party all over again. Popularity and status and Homecoming Royalty weren't on the line. The big Reamy debut wasn't about any of the assorted crap Karmy had been about, almost before it had even started.

It was about showing everyone that Amy had moved on.

So maybe they would too.

Amy popped her locker and tried to ignore the stares and whispers, which were always worse after she'd been seen with Karma. And she was sure someone had heard some of their exchange at lunch, probably the 'grow the fuck up' part, which she'd said just a little louder than she'd intended.

She started exchanging books from her bag, prepping for her afternoon classes, none of which she shared with Karma. She remembered when she'd thought that was a bad thing.

Shane slid up next to her, leaning one shoulder against the row of lockers. "Hey," he said, quietly, his usual bluster gone. This was the Shane that Amy saw only once in a while. When he'd confessed that he'd told Liam the truth about her and Karma. When he'd secretly - or so he thought - sincerely apologized to Lauren for the rumors about her pills.

When he knew he'd fucked up.

If there was one thing Amy had learned about Shane, it was that he didn't handle guilt well. It wore on him and clutched at him, like gravity holding him down.

She knew the feeling.

"Amy, I am so, so, so sorry," he said. He took one of her hands between his. "I just assumed you had told her."

Amy looked down at their joined hands, flicked her eyes to Shane's face, back to the hands.

He let go.

"You know what happens when _you _assume, Shane," she said. "First, you end up outing me as a lesbian. Then you convince me to have a threesome, because you assume Karma's interested." She shut the locker and leaned against it. "And then you out me. _Again_." She frowned at him, but then shook her head and took his hand again. She couldn't stay mad at him.

Shane smiled back at her. "I really am sorry," he said. He knew she hated that phrase, knew she'd heard 'I'm sorry' from Karma so much that the words had practically lost all meaning.

Amy shrugged. "Not your fault," she said, slinging her arm through his as they started down the hall. "I should have told you that I hadn't told her. Or I should have just told her."

Shane stopped suddenly, holding tight to Amy's arm and almost pulling her over. "Why didn't you?" he asked.

She heard the worry in his voice and knew, immediately, where his mind was going. "Relax, Shane," she said. "I wasn't trying to keep my options open or desperately hoping Karma would come to her senses." She looked down at the floor, scuffed one sneaker against the tile. "That ship has sailed," she said softly. She looked up at Shane, then but there were no tears.

Amy was done crying for Karma.

"I just hadn't…" she shrugged again. "When I'm with Reagan, I don't think about it. About _her_. It's like we're in our own little bubble and the only things that get in are what we let in. Like you and Lauren and Theo." Amy smiled. "I guess I didn't want to burst my own bubble just yet."

Shane grinned, so happy that she was happy. And then, before he could speak again his eyes went wide.

"Shane?" Amy asked. "Earth to Shane?" She waved her hand in front of his face. "What's gotten into…" her voice trailed off ass he turned to see what he was staring at. "Oh," she said. "_Damn."_

If Amy had even the slightest doubt that she was, as she'd described it after her first kiss with Reagan, _so fucking gay_, then the sight of her girlfriend walking towards them pretty much ended that.

She was in her catering outfit, but Amy wasn't sure she'd ever been to a party where the wait-staff looked like _that_. And if there were such parties, she needed to be invited to them. _All of them. _

The white blouse was undone just one button too many, and the way the swell of Reagan;s breasts moved against as she walked was hypnotizing. The skirt was pulled up just an inch, maybe two, too short, though it would've been hard to convince Amy right then that _too _short was a possibility. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy, 'I just rolled out of bed and don't you wish you'd rolled with me' bun, with some of the newly dyed purple tips caressing her neck.

And then there was the walk.

Oh. My. God. The. Walk.

It wasn't dirty or suggestive. There was no extra shaking or bumping or swiveling hips. There didn't need to be. Reagan was walking with a purpose.

It was the stride. The expression on her face that brooked no interruptions, that said 'get in my way and I will run you over and you will _like _it'. She wasn't walking. She was stalking. She was a hunter. With a target.

And when she got to Amy, and reached out to tuck a few loose blonde curls behind her ear while wrapping her other arm around Amy's waist and pulling them - _fusing_ _them_ - together, before cupping Amy's cheek and pressing their lips together in a kiss that left Shane fanning himself like a Southern belle on a hot July day, one thing was clear to everyone there:

The Hunter had caught her prey.

Yeah, there were some things Amy missed from before she and Karma had faked it.

But some of the new things weren't so bad, either.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a time when Amy remembered every single kiss she and Karma ever shared.

The first one, at the assembly. She was picking confetti out of her hair for weeks and sometimes the tingling in her lips as she lay in bed at night was so bad she couldn't sleep.

The one in the quad, with their adoring public cheering them on and Karma snapping a future Instagram / Facebook / Twitter / she-probably-posterized-it-and-hung-it-around-campus-to- make-Liam-hot picture.

The threesome.

Amy remembered them all, but _that one_ she tried desperately, post-wedding, to forget.

But what she could never forget, no matter how hard she tried, was how the kisses made her feel.

Kissing Karma was… fuck… it was _everything_. It was coming home. It was melting into someone and letting them consume you completely and never once minding. It was a low, dull, thudding ache in her heart, a desire to be not just the first, but the _only_ girl - the only _one - _Karma ever kissed again.

If kissing Karma was all that, then kissing Reagan - being kissed _by _ Reagan - was, well, Amy wasn't entirely sure there was a word for it. And even if there was, the moment Reagan's lips pressed against hers, the split-second her tongue delved into Amy's mouth, that moment in between breaths when Reagan nibbled on her bottom lip, a hand clutching Amy's hip, the other running through her hair, fingers sliding down and across her cheek…

Even if there was a word, in _those _moments? Amy's brain couldn't have found it if she tried.

Reagan stepped back, slowly ending the kiss, both hands sliding down to Amy's hips, holding to her tightly, as if she was afraid the younger girl might float away. Amy forced herself to open her eyes. After their first kiss, she'd been so dazed (floored? overcome? _fucking hot._) that she'd stood there for more than a minute, eyes still squeezed shut.

Reagan had been nice about it. She only giggled a little. And then kissed her again, so that was good.

"Hey," Reagan said softly, still close enough that Amy could feel the whisper against her lips.

Amy nodded, not quite sure speaking was a real possibility just yet. Not with Reagan's fingers now swirling soft circles against her sides and her lips still so close and the feel of her and

_fuck it_

It was Amy's turn to reach out, tugging Reagan back to her, leaning in only to find her girlfriend had the same idea and was already halfway there. They met in the middle, a soft moan slipping from between Reagan's lips, and Amy suddenly had the urge to not be standing anymore, mostly because she wasn't sure her legs could hold her.

Shane, still standing next to them, glanced around the crowded hallway. Everyone was looking. _Everyone_. To hell with waiting for the party, he thought. Reamy had _arrived_.

Still, he knew no matter how much Amy enjoyed kissing Reagan - and clearly that was _a lot_ - this kind of public attention wasn't her thing. He cleared his throat, trying to burst their little bubble. "Um, Amy? Reagan?"

Amy pulled back, fractionally, just enough to mutter "What?"

"Not that I'm not enjoying all the lesbian energies and all," he said. "But you've got quite the audience."

"Fuck 'em," Reagan said, her hands moving to cup Amy's cheeks. "Let 'em stare."

Shane hadn't known her that long, but he couldn't say he was surprised by her reaction. Out and proud wasn't just a description for Reagan. It was who she _was_.

Amy, on the other hand… "Aims?"

Amy pulled back again and tipped her head, resting her forehead against Reagan's. She looked into her girlfriend's eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey," she said.

Reagan grinned. "I already said that. You know, before you decided to get me all hot and bothered right here in the hall."

Amy let out something that sounded like a growl, the kind of sound Shane had never expected to hear from her and the kind that Reagan was quickly learning to bring out of her on a regular basis. Just usually without so many people around.

"_You're _hot and bothered?" Amy asked. "I still have to go to class. Do you have any idea how fucking impossible Biology is to begin with? And now I'm expected to do it while imagining…" she trailed off, suddenly remembering where she was. "Um… imagining… you know… stuff…"

Reagan was bringing - _pulling, dragging, hauling_ - Amy out of her shell, but there were still some places Amy couldn't bring herself to go just yet. Not in public.

In private was rapidly becoming another story though.

"Well," Reagan said, stepping back a little and taking Amy's hands in hers. "I might have a solution for that. My catering gig for today got cancelled."

"The wedding?" Amy asked. She only remembered because Reagan had made a point of mentioning that it was her only gig for the next three days _and_ it was in the afternoon _and _ she would, therefore, be home _and _alone all night.

Even Amy had been able to read between those lines.

Reagan nodded. "Seems the bride caught the groom with the best man last night after the rehearsal dinner." She grinned over at Shane. "Maybe somebody's been taking party planning lessons from the Great Harvey."

Shane frowned and shook his head. "If I'd given them lessons, they wouldn't have gotten caught."

Reagan and Amy both laughed and the crowd, sensing the show was really over, slowly filtered out, moving on with their days. Though, Shane did notice, more than a few of them tossed off a quick backward glance or two, just in case. .

"Anyway," Reagan continued, running her thumbs across Amy's knuckles. "Since I don't have to work now, I thought maybe I'd swing by here and see if I could convince my girlfriend to skip the rest of her day and come hang out with me?"

Shane nodded enthusiastically, preparing himself to push Amy out the school doors if he had to.

Amy tilted her head slightly so he couldn't see her smile. For all his going on and on about wanting her to find someone so he could have the _real_ lesbian friends he deserved, and so she could get the hell over Karma, Amy knew Shane was genuinely excited at how happy she'd been lately, and would do anything he could to keep her that way.

"I don't know," she said. She could see his smile dropping out of the corner of her eye. "I do have that Bio class to get to…"

Reagan closed the distance between them again bringing their entwined hands together between their chests. "Come with me," she said. "We can study chemistry. Much more interesting subject matter."

Amy tried. Really she did. But after a good fifteen seconds of holding it in, the laughter finally erupted out of her. "Did you really just say _that_? Study chemistry?" Reagan was staring at he. The glare said 'I am not amused', but the twitching corners of her mouth, told a different story. "I'm sorry, babe," Amy said, not even noticing how easily the endearment rolled out of her mouth. "But seriously?"

"I was trying to be funny," Reagan said, mock pouting in a way that once might have reminded Amy of Karma, but now just made her stare longingly at Reagan's bottom lip. "I've been told girls like a woman with a sense of humor."

"If those are the lines you're going to be using," Amy said, "you better _pray _that's true." She slung her bag over her shoulder and slipped her arm through Reagan's. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone with better pick-up lines swoops in and steals me away."

Amy had only taken a few steps before she realized, mostly from the pulling on her arm, that Reagan was still standing there. "What? I thought you wanted me to skip with you?"

"I did," Reagan said. "I _do_. I just didn't think you'd actually do it."

"Well, I am just full of surprises then," Amy replied. "Let's just say I've had enough of Hester for one day." She tugged on Reagan's arm, urging her along. "And besides, we have to talk about this party we're apparently going to this weekend."

Reagan's face lit up and any hesitation Amy still had about Shane's party burned off in the glow. "We're going?" Reagan asked, surprised for the second time in as many minutes. She glanced at Shane. "We got her to go?" Shane nodded, though he was pretty sure - and slightly uneasy about - the fact that Karma had been the one to actually get Amy to go.

"Yes," he said. "And you two need to plan your outfits - no donut shirts or other food themed items, Amy - and I've got some ideas I'll text you about your big entrance and…"

Shane droned on and Reagan listened and Amy, well, Amy tuned out. She would go. She would party. She would be shown to the world, or at least the Hester portion of it. But she drew the line at partaking in the planning. She had standards.

But then she tuned back in. Just in time, too.

"And of course, you two probably need to talk about the Kar-" Shane caught the glare Amy shot at him and did his best, though that wasn't saying much, to course correct in mid-thought. "The _car_ situation," he said. "Parking on my street during parties has just become something of a nightmare, so y'all need to plan accordingly."

Reagan grinned at him and then turned to Amy who, for just a moment, thought she was home free.

Like her luck was ever that good.

Reagan slid over next to her, leaning her head against Amy's shoulder. "So, you told Karma about me then, huh?"

Amy stared at the floor, counting to ten, not wanting to look back up and kill Shane on the spot.

"Hey," Reagan said, putting one finger under Amy's chin and gently lifting her face. "It's no biggie. She was going to find out sooner or later, right?"

"She has a point, Amy," Shane said and then stepped back, shocked at how quickly Amy could snap her head around to glare at him. "I'll shut up now," he said. Twice in an hour he'd pissed her off. Even for him that had to be some kind of record.

"Come on Shrimps," Reagan said. "Let's get out of here and you can tell me all about how Karma took it. And then you can help me plan how to make the best first impression ever so she'll have no choice but to love me." She slipped her hand into Amy's and squeezed. "Sound good?

Amy nodded. "But first?" she said. "First, we _study_." She grinned at her girlfriend. "I think I need some help with my chemistry."

Reagan laughed and pressed a quick peck to Amy's lips. "I love you," she said and then she was pulling Amy out through the doors and those words, those three little (and who was Amy kidding, those words were anything _but_ little) danced through the air between them.

That one kiss was the total opposite of the fever-inducing, toe-curling, mind-blanking kiss from earlier. It was quick, barely a brush of lips, and it certainly didn't scream 'take me right here, right now.'

But it still made Amy's knees buckle.

And while the memories of the kisses Karma had given her had faded, Amy still remembered _every _single kiss she and Reagan had shared.

And this one? This half a second blip on the radar?

This one was her favorite one of all.


	4. Chapter 4, Part One

**_A/N: Thank you to everyone for all the kind reviews and favs/follows. I had to split this chapter or it would have been ridiculously long. And yes, part of this is based off the promo for the new episode when Reagan, Amy, and Karma are all at the group hang. Hopefully, the show will have something better up their sleeves for that than I did. _**

Throughout the entire one month, three weeks, and four days (give or take), they'd been dating, Reagan had always been the one to tell Amy things first.

She told her about her family. Her absentee mom, workaholic dad, nasty bitch of a grandmother. Her brother who'd done two tours in Iraq and come back whole.

She told Amy about her dream of being a music producer. She'd always loved music and she could spend hours just rearranging and remixing the same song, getting the beat just right. Being a cater-waiter was a bill payer, she said, and the DJ'ing was like college, on-the-job training.

She told her about her old girlfriends. Two. Anna, the pointless fling that had made her realize she was gay. One kiss, she said, that was all it took.

Amy didn't need to say anything to that. The look on her face told Reagan all she needed to know.

And then there was Shelby. One year, four months, two weeks, six days. Reagan told Amy Shelby was her first love.

Even at the time - three weeks and two days into their relationship - Reagan already knew Shelby might have been her first love, but she was definitely not her _last_.

Reagan told Amy everything. Anything she asked and anything she _didn't_. And she didn't mind that Amy wasn't as… forthcoming. She didn't care that the younger girl doled out bits and pieces of her life one morsel at a time. For those first few weeks, Reagan waited on those morsels, greedily snatching them up when Amy shared.

Slowly, Amy opened up. She talked about Bruce and her mom, about how hard it had been to see another man come along, this time with a little blonde she-devil in tow. It had scared her, Amy said. It had been just her and her mom and now there was an insta-family sitting in her living room and she wasn't sure if she was supposed to love them or if she could even like them.

When Amy finally realized that she actually _liked_ Lauren, Reagan was the first person she told. But only after she made her swear to never tell.

Amy told her about Shane. About how he had supported her through her confusion and her frighteningly bad epic failures at meeting girls. Reagan could tell it was important to Amy that she and Shane get along. The boy _mattered_ to Amy, mattered in ways Amy couldn't quite put into words, but Reagan could hear it in her voice when she talked about him and see it in the way she giggled and smiled more whenever he was around.

And, eventually, Amy told her about Karma.

Or at least Reagan thought she did.

Amy told her about her weird, goofy, funny, altogether wonderful best friend. She told her how they'd met in a ball pit. About their Unicorn phase. About the time Karma beat up Scott Rooney for trying to kiss Amy during recess (ten-year-old Karma was quite the badass, Amy said).

She told Reagan about Karma's desire for Liam and about her own distaste for the boy. About how she didn't trust him because, let's face it, Hester's number one player wasn't just going to suddenly change his ways, right? Karma was another fuck to Liam, that and nothing else.

Amy was _sure _of that, she said. And she really wanted _better _for her friend. For her _best _friend.

And the way the light dimmed slightly behind Amy's eyes as she said it? Well, that told Reagan a lot too.

Even if she refused to hear it.

So, after five weeks together, Reagan thought Amy had told her everything. At least the basics. She knew there'd be more. There's always more. Reagan had seen enough good couples in her life to know that five or ten or twenty or one thousand weeks, it didn't matter. There was always more. More to discover, to learn, to be amazed by.

And, in the end, it wasn't Amy that told her about Karma, not really. It was Lauren.

They'd been on a double date with Lauren and Theo. Reagan liked being able to hang out with Amy's friends, liked the feeling of being a couple with other people instead of locked behind Amy's bedroom door or hidden away in her apartment. It wasn't that she didn't like being alone with Amy, there were times when she could have happily done that for days and weeks on end.

But she didn't want Amy to feel like she was dating the female Liam. She didn't want Amy to feel like it was all about stolen secret kisses behind closed doors.

She wanted - _needed_ - her to feel _loved_. And love wasn't a secret or something you hid away. Though Amy had never come out and said it, Reagan could tell she'd had enough of _that_ kind of love in her life.

They'd been at a restaurant. Some place none of them had ever been. Amy liked going new places with Reagan, so the older girl always tried to find something different for them to do.

She'd been sitting next to Amy, laughing politely at something Theo had said even though it was barely even funny, when Amy's phone buzzed on the table. The goofy grinning face on the screen said it all.

Karma.

"You're not going to get that, right?" Lauren asked. Reagan knew Lauren didn't like Amy's BFF, hell, anyone who had spent more than five minutes around Amy and her step-sister knew that.

Amy shook her head and declined the call.

Karma called back two minutes later.

And four minutes after that.

And five minutes _after that_.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Lauren said, as she snatched the phone from Amy and shut it off. "Doesn't she know it's bad form to call your ex when she's on a date?" She tossed the phone back down on the table. "Even if she's not _really_ your ex. But still…"

Lauren trailed off as she noticed the look on Amy's face. She hadn't seen her look like that since the night of the wedding.

Well. _Shit_.

Reagan turned to Amy, confused, yes, but suddenly understanding oh so much, all at once.

"You two… you and Karma… you were a couple?"

Amy nodded. Then shook her head. Then shrugged.

It was a truthful answer, really.

Lauren and Theo excused themselves, not that Amy or Reagan noticed. Reagan turned fully in her chair, facing Amy, but she crossed her arms across her chest, tucked her feet under the chair. It took Amy fifteen long minutes to go through the whole story.

It was the longest they'd gone without touching since they started dating.

When she was done, Amy stared down at the table, barely holding back tears. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just… I didn't know how."

Reagan nodded. She could understand that. It was a fucking lot to have to share with someone.

But she thought they'd gotten there. She thought they were in _that _place. Together.

She pulled her coat off the back of the chair and stood. "I need to go," she said. She saw Amy's eyes squeeze shut, spilling the tears she'd been fighting off. "I'm not… this isn't… I just need some time, OK?"

Amy nodded, but Reagan was already in motion. Away from the table. Out the door. Out into the chilly night and away from the restaurant. She saw Lauren and Theo in the parking lot and wanted to call out to them, to tell Lauren to go to her sister, that Amy needed her.

But her mouth was dry and her throat closed up and she just kept moving.

She'd asked for time and Amy gave it to her. Five whole minutes of it.

The blonde caught up to her three blocks from the restaurant. She reached out and grabbed Reagan's arm, pulling her around. She was going for dramatic, aiming to yank her girlfriend into a soulful, mind melting kiss, the kind that said everything her words couldn't.

In typical Amy fashion, she spun Reagan around and watched in horror as her girlfriend - was she still her girlfriend? - slipped and fell onto the sidewalk.

"Shit," Amy yelled as she crouched next to Reagan. "I'm so sorry. That wasn't the plan. I was trying to be all romantic and I just fucked it up which really shouldn't come as a surprise at this point, but I swear Reagan -"

Reagan pressed two fingers against her lips, stilling her.

"Are you still in love with her?" she asked. Reagan was a smart girl. She knew that of everything she'd heard tonight, the only thing that mattered between her and Amy was the answer to two very simple questions.

"Are you still in love with Karma?" she asked again softly. Knowing that if Amy said yes, the second question wouldn't matter.

Amy shook her head. Slowly at first, but then more confidently. She'd known for a while that she was past Karma, past the constant need and ache and maybe not the caring but that would never quite fade, and she wouldn't really want it to.

Reagan took in a deep shuddering breath. She hadn't realized how much she'd _wanted_ that to be the answer.

"Amy," she said, staring at her girlfriend - and yes, she was _still_ that. "Are you in love with _me_?"

Amy's eyes grew incredibly wide. Reagan knew the look. She'd seen it all over Amy's face the first time they'd kissed, the first time she had slowly tugged her shirt off and laid soft, gentle kisses across her stomach, the first time she's scraped her fingernails up and across Amy's bare back.

She was scared.

She was fucking terrified.

Reagan knew the feeling.

"Amy?" She hoped she'd managed to keep the pleading tone out of her voice.

Amy swallowed once and let out her own slow breath. "Does falling in that direction count?"

Reagan laughed and her shoulders shook and she pulled Amy down onto her. And they sat there like that, giggling and cuddling on the cold sidewalk until their laughter had stilled and Reagan pressed her lips to Amy's and rested their foreheads together.

Yeah, she thought, falling definitely counts.


	5. Chapter 4, Part Two

For one month, three weeks, and four days, it had been Reagan who said things first. The first to reveal, the first to share, the first to laugh, hell, she'd been the first to let out a low moan during a kiss.

Amy might have taken over the lead on that one though. Once the seal had been broken, Reagan quickly discovered that her girlfriend wasn't particularly quiet when she was turned on. Which, since about the second week of that one month, seemed to be Amy's perpetual state around Reagan.

But in every other way, it was Reagan who went first. And now, she'd done it again.

She hadn't planned to say it. Really, she hadn't. Not then. Not in the Hester High hallway. Not with Shane standing like three feet away. Not in that blurting, I just can't hold it in case you are just so fucking _adorable_ and if I have to keep this in one more minute I might just die kind of way.

As she steered the car toward her apartment, she resisted the urge to bang her head on the steering wheel. The urge to leap from the car and run as fast and as far as she could. To turn to Amy and tell her _look, I didn't mean that thing I said back there, you know, the love thing and how about we just pretend it never happened and go back to my place and maybe I can make you moan enough that you forget I ever opened my mouth…._

She couldn't do that. She couldn't take it back. And, truthfully, even if she _could_, she wouldn't. She'd change the how of it, the where and when, but she would _never_ take it back. She couldn't do that to Amy.

Or to herself.

Reagan might have regretted a lot about the last fifteen minutes, but she could never regret loving Amy. Even if this was the thing that ruined it all, even if she had spoken too quickly, if letting her guard down for those thirty stinking seconds had fucked up the best thing she'd ever had?

She would never regret the feeling. Loving Amy did something to her. She couldn't quite describe it, not without sounding like a cheesy pop song about fireworks and swelling hearts and while she was secretly a little bit of a romantic at heart, she had a rep to maintain, and cool DJ's didn't ramble on about hearts and flowers and sweet nothings like some grade school girl with her first crush.

Reagan let her eyes flick from the road to Amy, staring out the same window she'd had her gaze fixed on since they left the high school parking lot. And she felt, _literally fucking felt_, her heart skip a beat.

Fuck reputations. She was a goner. She'd wear flowery sun dresses and skip through fields of wildflowers and dress their kids - twin daughters, of course - in matching Christmas dresses for the family holiday card photo, if it meant spending every waking moment with Amy.

God, she was _screwed_.

And the fact that Amy hadn't said a word, hadn't made a sound, hadn't even _breathed_ audibly since Reagan's sudden blurt? That didn't concern her at all. Nope. Not even a little.

Her heart always raced like this. Her palms were always this sweaty. That slowly spreading gnawing put in her stomach? That was there 24/7/365.

Nope. No problems whatsoever, she thought. Everything fucking five by five over here.

She had a brief moment of panic - _absolute fucking terror_ - and thought about spinning the car out. Slamming into tree sounded mildly better that the deafening fucking silence - and oh, how she understood that phrase now - she'd endured since they left Hester.

But that would only fix the short term.

It wasn't the short term that worried her. Try as she might - and her imagination was trying awfully damn hard - Reagan couldn't imagine Amy breaking up with her just because she'd said… _that_. She might not know everything about Amy yet, might not be the expert on her that Karma was, but she knew that wasn't Amy's style.

No, Amy wouldn't just end it. She'd _try_. She would shove her own fears, doubts, and feelings way down deep and try for Reagan. Because that's what Amy did. That was who she was.

So, in the short term, Reagan knew they'd still be together. But long term?

Why couldn't that gnawing pit just swallow her whole?

She tried to focus on the positive. Amy had said she was falling. That was good, right? Falling meant possibility. Falling meant Reagan was floating completely alone out here. And maybe Amy wasn't done falling, maybe she hadn't… landed, yet. But that didn't mean she wouldn't. That didn't mean this had become some bad one-sided unrequited mess where they couldn't be around each other for more than five minutes because it was just so fucking _uncomfortable_.

Oh, shit, she thought. I'm her. I'm Amy. And she's my Karma.

She took a corner a little too sharply, found herself slamming on the brakes to keep from rolling up on the sidewalk, and when even that didn't get a reaction from Amy, Reagan finally couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Really? Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me here? First the chemistry bit and now 'a penny'? I need to get my brain and mouth re-fucking-wired.

And then she remembered. There was the little matter of those three _other _words too.

Amy smiled, but didn't turn from the window. "You're a DJ and a cater-waiter. You sure you've got a penny to spare?"

The sound of her voice was like a rush of oxygen and Reagan couldn't help but gasp. She recovered quickly. relieved that at least they could still joke. "Cheap shot, Shrimps," she said, reaching out hand and slapping Amy's thigh.

When Amy caught her hand and laced their fingers together, Reagan was sure she'd be able to feel her pulse slamming the blood through her veins at an unhealthy rate.

"Seriously, though," she said. "Whatcha thinking about over there?" Amy brushed her thumb across Reagan's skin and the older girl started searching desperately for some place to pull over. If the feel of Amy's thumb against her knuckles was enough to make her feel like her heart was going to drum right out of her chest, then she was in no condition to drive.

Amy turned from the window, her fingers squeezing tightly around Reagan's hand. "I was thinking about you," she said. And Reagan felt a moment of hope swell up out of that pit in her stomach. "I was thinking about what you said."

'Oh." It was all Reagan could manage and even that one word, that one _syllable_, scratched against her throat as it worked its way out. As that hope disappeared back down to whatever foolish place it had come from.

"Can I ask you something?" Amy shifted in her seat so she was facing Reagan, but she never let go of her hand. "You remember the other night? At your place? When things got… heated?"

Reagan's heart twitched. Did she remember the feeling of Amy's naked sin against hers? Did she remember seeing Amy fully for the first time, stretched out across her bed, the light from the one lamp on her small bedside table casting shadows across Amy's body in all the right places? Did she remember them falling into bed together, wrapped up in one another, the feel of Amy's breasts pressed against her back and Amy's fingers tracing endless little swirls all across her skin until she'd fallen asleep cradled in the younger girl's arms.

Reagan nodded. She might have had a _vague_ recollection.

"You stopped it," Amy said. "We were… well, I _think_ we were going to… and then you stopped it. You kissed me and cuddled me and we slept together, but we really _slept_, even though we were naked and we hadn't gotten _there_ before -"

"Amy," Reagan's voice snapped the blonde out of her ramble. Something a thinking about her and Reagan all naked and fingers and lips and touches seemed to make her lose her train of thought.

"Sorry," Amy said, blushing she stared down at their linked hands. "Why?" she asked. There was no judgment in her tone, just genuine questioning and confusion. "If you're in love with me, then why did you stop?"

And now Reagan _had _ to stop because there was no way she was even close to capable of having this conversation _and_ driving. She swung across two lanes of oncoming traffic, steering them into the parking lot of one of the about 1 billion nondescript office buildings in Austin. She chose a spot as far removed from everyone else as possible and parked.

Her hand dropped from the wheel and into her lap. Amy was still clutching the other one, though Reagan suspected that might have had more to do with a sudden rush of fear at her stunt car driving than it did with romance.

She stared straight ahead for a minute, trying to pull it all together. She knew the answer. She knew _exactly_ why she'd stopped them the other night. But even in her head it was a bit convoluted and confusing and if she didn't tell Amy this exactly right…

"You remember when I told you about my old girlfriends?"

The way she felt Amy's grip on her hand loosen slightly told her that she probably hadn't chosen the best way to start. But fuck all, she was in it now.

The only way out was straight on through.

"Anna was a fling," she said. "A _hot_ fling, but nothing serious. She was my training wheels girlfriend. It was all new and different and nothing I'd ever done before… I got to learn about all things lesbian and she got.. well…"

"I get it," Amy said gently. She knew somewhere in here there was a point. Reagan always had a point. But she wasn't sure she wanted to hear about her girlfriend's past sexual adventures as a way of explaining why she's refused sex with _her_.

"Shelby was something different." Reagan allowed herself a small smile at the memory. Yeah, it had ended badly, but sometimes the trip was worth the ending. "I loved her," she said. "And she loved me. And that made all the difference."

Reagan turned in her seat, pulling their conjoined hands into her lap. She wanted Amy to see her face, to look in her eyes. She wanted there to be no doubt. "Anna was my first, but Shelby was… my _real _ first in every way that mattered. First real love. First real _lover_." She let out a shuddering breath, praying she'd find the words to make Amy understand. "You know how they always say sex is better with someone you love and someone who loves you back?"

Amy nodded. She'd said that to Karma more times than she could count.

"Well," Reagan said. "For once, _they_ speak the truth. Sex with Anna was hot and amazing, but with Shelby… being in love, _together_… I've never felt anything like that."

Amy wanted to pull her hand away. She wanted to leap from the car and curl up and cry. She didn't care what Reagan's point was anymore. She didn't care about the answer to her question or why Reagan had chosen today to say those words or anything else.

All she could think was that never wanted to hear the name Shelby ever again.

"That's why I stopped us that night," Reagan said. She saw Amy's eyes snap up to meet her own. "I don't want to be your Anna," she said. "I _can't_ be. It would fucking kill me. I want.. I _need_ to be your Shelby. Because what I had for my first is what I want _for_ you. I want your first - and fuck that shit with Liam, _we're_ going to be your first - I want that to be between you and someone who loves you. And someone you love back."

"But you _do_ love me," Amy said softly.

Reagan nodded. "I started falling for you the moment you climbed that ladder to be with me at the rave." She squeezed Amy's hand tightly. "I've loved you since the night you chased after me when I found out about you and Karma." She brought Amy's hand closer and brushed her lips across the blonde's knuckles. "And if I'm lucky enough that someday you feel that for me… I'm willing to wait for that day. As long as it takes."

"Why?" Amy asked. She hadn't meant to. It wasn't what she wanted to say. But after everything, every rejection, every heartbreak, some part of her need to hear it.

"Because," Reagan said. "Because if what I felt for Shelby made being with her _that_ incredible…" She blinked back tears she hadn't even known were there. "Then what I feel for you and being with you... " She smiled ruefully. "Being with you might well ruin me for all other women. Ever."

Amy laughed and cried and felt her heart shaking within her chest.

"I'm sorry I told you the way I did," Reagan said. "That wasn't how I wanted to do it. I wanted it to be sweet and romantic and like something out of a movie -"

She fell silent as Amy pressed two fingers to her lips. "I don't need a movie, Reagan," she said. "I just need _you_."

Amy scrambled out of her seat and into Reagan's lap, moving those two fingers aside and crashing her mouth against Reagan, slowly, deliberately devouring every inch of her girlfriend's lips, before she suddenly pulled back to stare into Reagan's eyes.

"You didn't have to stop the other night," she said. And the look that flickered behind Reagan's eyes as she realized what Amy was saying? No look had ever made Amy feel more wanted or loved in her life. "I love you, too."

Amy ran her hands through Reagan's hair and pulled her into a kiss And then another. And then another. And somewhere along the way they both lost count and track of time and neither one of them gave a damn.

Throughout the entire one month, three weeks, and four days (give or take), they'd been dating, Reagan had always been the one to tell Amy things first. And she'd been so sure this time she'd made a mistake.

As she felt Amy's hands tangle in her hair and _felt_ her murmur "I love you" against her lips, Reagan realized she never been so happy to be wrong in her life.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews and favorites. This part's got a little _implied_ smut in it, though it's not too bad, I don't think. And for those who asked - Karma and Reagan will meet soon and there will definitely be some jealous Karma action. **

So this, Amy thought, is what it's like to be loved.

She leaned against the window of Reagan's car, letting her eyes shut. The cool glass did little to fade the flush reddening her skin or lessen the pleasurable burn of all the trails Reagan's lips had traced against her collarbone and the soft skin of her neck. She was going to have to wear high collared shirts to school for the next week.

Not that she minded.

After all, a little territory marking was to be expected, right? In a little more than a day, Reagan and Karma would come face-to-face for the first time. And Amy _might_ have mentioned Karma could get a little territorial - scrappy, she'd said - and while Amy knew Reagan had no doubts about her feelings, especially now, she also knew the marks weren't there to reassure Reagan. Or to turn Amy on.

Though, to Amy's slight surprise, feeling those little bites across her skin did exactly that.

No, the marks weren't there for either of them. They were there for Karma. And Amy and Reagan both knew it, even if they never once discussed it.

Amy knew it would probably only make things worse. If Karma's reaction to being the last to know was _that_ bad, then seeing Amy with hickeys - fucking _hickeys - _might well drive Karma round the bend.

"You OK over there, Shrimps?" Reagan took one hand off the wheel and laid it on Amy's thigh. She smiled when Amy took her hand and entwined their fingers. "I know my makeout game is strong," she said, "but I didn't think even I could render someone speechless."

Amy popped one eye open and arched an eyebrow at her girlfriend. Reagan repressed a smirk. Amy's eyebrow arch invariably made her look like she was having some kind of electrocution induced fit.

"Maybe," Amy said, "I'm just planning out what I'm going to do _to__you_, later." She did her best to sound seductive, trying to mimic the husky undertone Reagan's voice took on whenever she wanted Amy.

Which, Amy thought happily, was so _very _often.

Reagan _did _smirk then. "Nice try," she said. "But you forget, I know you too well. I mean, sure, once we get going you're quite the little top." She squeezed Amy's hand and smiled at the way even that simple a gesture could still make her skin tingle. "But you don't initiate. I'm the starter."

"So what does that make me?" Amy asked. "The finisher?"

Reagan pulled her eyes from the road for just a moment and turned to Amy. The younger girl felt her face flush again as she saw the heavy-lidded look of lust in her girlfriend's eyes. "I hope so," Reagan said. "I really do hope so."

Amy was suddenly glad that they were in motion, that Reagan was driving, because that was about the only thing keeping her from crawling into the older girl's lap again right that second. And. seeing as how they'd damn near fucked not ten minutes ago in the parking lot, Amy knew if they started again?

They weren't stopping. Not for a long, long while.

Amy slipped her sneakers off and turned in her seat, stretching her legs over the center console and draping Reagan's lap. "Well, if that's the case, she said, "tell me again why we're _not_ going to your place?" She rubbed a foot across Reagan's thigh, treading dangerously close to the oh-so-short hemline of her skirt.

Not the safest play while driving, she knew. But there was just something about her girlfriend that made her want to take a few risks.

Little ones. Big ones.

Even ones with her heart.

Reagan pulled her hand free from Amy's grasp and moved it atop her legs, stopping the flirtatious foot before it caused an accident. "What?" Reagan asked. "Did you think telling me you loved me was all you had to do to get in my pants?"

Amy nodded and slid the other foot across Reagan's lap. Her heel slipped between the older girl's thighs, pressing the fabric of her skirt up and Reagan, almost involuntarily, spread her legs just a little.

"_Fuck_." The word hissed out from between her teeth and Reagan had to put both hands back on the wheel. "Shrimps…" she whined quietly.

"Tell me you want me to stop," Amy said, her foot sliding just a bit further. A light twist, a little back and forth, and Reagan's eyes fluttered. "Tell me you want me to stop and I will," she said again.

Reagan's hands clamped down on the wheel. "Amy…"

The foot suddenly disappeared and Reagan wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She knew _exactly _ what she was a moment later when Amy unbuckled her belt and leaned across the seats, her hand sliding down where her foot had just been.

"All you have to do is say 'stop'" Amy said. She rested her head on Reagan's shoulder and her words whispered across her girlfriend's skin. "Unless you don't want me to?"

Reagan's teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she did her best to stifle a moan. She felt her skirt sliding higher and then Amy's fingers were tracing delicate circles in a slowly shrinking pattern, getting closer and closer and closer…

"Reagan?" Amy could see the goosebumps rising on her girlfriend's cheeks. "What was it you said?" she asked. "That I don't _initiate_?"

She emphasized the word with a quick, hard, three-fingered pressure against just the right spot.

And then she pulled her hand away, slid back into her seat, and buckled back up.

Reagan's arms trembled and her foot slipped off the gas. She shot a glare at Amy. "What the _fuck _ was that?"

Amy shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What was what?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Did I do _something_?"

Reagan took the last turn onto Amy's street and thanked God that she hadn't done it so hard she ended up on two wheels. She slid into her usual parking spot in front of the house and looked at Amy.

"Did you think all _that_," she said, gesturing at Amy's hand and her foot and then at everything in between. "Did you think all that was going to get me to turn this car around, take you to my place, and have my way with you?"

Amy shook her head. "Nope," she said. "I was thinking it would be a much more _mutual_ way-having." She smirked at her girlfriend. "Though if you just wanted to _have_ your way with _me_, well, I don't think I'd object too much."

Reagan didn't say anything. Fuck, she wasn't even convinced she _could_ speak. This was a side of Amy she'd never seen, she doubted _anyone_ had ever seen it. It was confident. In control.

And so _fucking hot_.

Reagan closed her eyes and tried not to feel. She tried not to feel the way her own hand was tracing the path Amy's had blazed across her thighs. She tried not to feel the way the hairs on the back of her neck were still standing - hell, _vibrating_ - or the way her teeth sliding across her lip made her imagine what they'd feel like sliding across and then down, between Amy's -

"_Fuck," _she hissed again. "You're killing me, Shrimps. You're fucking _killing_ me."

Amy chuckled and it was such an easy, goofy, fun sound that it snapped both girls out of their haze. "Good," Amy said. "Now you know what making me _wait_ feels like."

"_That's_ what this was about?" Reagan asked. "You just… with the foot… and the fingers…. and the…" She took a deep breath, trying to keep those _feelings _from getting all worked up again. "All this because I wouldn't take you home and fuck you?"

Amy shrugged again. "Maybe," she said, pouting like a little kid. "I just don't get why we have to wait anymore."

Reagan smiled and reached across the seats, brushing a few errant strands of hair out of Amy's face. "I know you don't need the romance and the candles and all that," she said. "But your - _our _- first time should still be special. And special is not my sheets that haven't been washed in a week and my apartment that looks like a horde of teenage boys just got done with a three day long bender."

"You were the one who invited Shane, Duke, and Theo to play beer pong," Amy retorted. "But, fine, whatever. If you'd rather clean than be dirty with me…"

Reagan leaned over the seats and brought her face close to Amy's. "Trust me, Shrimps, there's _nothing _I would rather do than be dirty with you." This time it was Amy's turn to flush at the huskiness in Reagan's voice, the way the unabashed lust in it made even 'Shrimps' sound like sex. "And there will be plenty of time for that."

"You sure?" Amy asked and wondered, even as she said it, just when she'd become this sex crazed teenager. "I mean, you never know what might happen. I could get hit by a bus. You could develop a tumor on your optic nerve and go blind. I could-"

"You could stop being so desperate and horny and _cute_ and just get out of the car," Reagan said as she tugged the keys from the ignition. She rolled her eyes and hoped she sounded calm and collected and not like she was about five seconds from fucking Amy right there in Farrah's front yeard. "I swear," she said. "Sometimes it's like I'm dating a fifteen year old boy."

She slid from the car quickly, before her heart and parts slightly south of the heart won out over her head. She saw Amy's mouth open, likely to launch a snarky little comeback and, since the snark was one of the things Reagan found incredibly hot about the blonde, she moved up the driveway even faster.

Amy sat in the car - comeback at the ready - but the words died as she saw Reagan headed up the driveway and she got another look at her in that skirt. From behind.

And started imagining herself slowly pulling it higher and higher. Sliding her hands underneath it. Watching as it slid up Reagan's thighs, right at eye level…

Damn, Amy thought. I _am_ a fifteen year old boy.

She hopped from the car, carrying her sneakers in one hand and her backpack in the other, and followed Reagan to the door. She slid up behind her and wrapped her arms around the older girl's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder.

"I love you," she said. She slipped one hand out and fit her key into the lock, and then pushed the front door open.

Reagan tipped her head against Amy's. "I love you, too." She turned and pressed a quick kiss to Amy's temple, and then arched an eyebrow. "And damn, am I glad you finally got that lock on your bedroom door."

And with that, she dashed inside and Amy could hear her hurtling up the stairs.

She stepped into the house and closed the door, leaning back up against it for just a second, before she smiled, dropped her bag, and ran up the stairs to her room, the door swinging shut behind her, Reagan clicking the lock into place before she tackled Amy to the bed.

So, _this_, Amy thought, is what it's like to be loved.


	7. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews and favorites. You all are awesome! This one is a little different. It goes back and forth between Reagan/Amy and Karma and gets a little angsty. And if you love Karma (and I do) you probably won't like her as much for the next couple chapters, but there's no story if there's no conflict, right? **_

These were the moments Reagan loved.

Not that she didn't enjoy the others - the ones with less clothing and more heavy breathing and more the feel of Amy's lips everywhere on her body - but _these_ were the ones that meant the most.

The quiet ones. Just being together, wrapped up in each other. Sometimes they could go an hour or more without talking, just holding on to each other, like they were in their own little bubble.

Of course, that bubble, like all bubbles, eventually had to burst.

This time, it was her phone. It buzzed and buzzed and buzzed and they ignored and ignored and ignored it, right up to the point where it vibrated its way off Amy's nightstand. The thunk of it on the floor was just enough to shake them out of their little world.

"You probably should get that," Amy said, though the arms she had wrapped around Reagan's waist didn't loosen their grip even a bit. "It could be someone important."

Reagan's hand continued to cup Amy's cheek, her thumb still tracing soft patterns back and forth against her girlfriend's skin - and she chuckled at the way she thought of her limbs and hands and lips all doing things independently, like she had no control.

Then again, when it came to Amy, Reagan had quickly learned she really _didn't _have much control.

"I doubt it," she replied. "Everyone important is right here. So unless you've figured out some way to call me without using your hands…"

Amy's lips curved into a quirky grin that reminded Reagan of every time Shane was about to say something wildly inappropriate. "Well," she said. "I _can _do amazing things with my as-"

"And I'm getting the phone!" Reagan wiggled loose and rolled off the bed, unwilling to even consider the places Amy could have been going with that thought.

No control, she thought. None whatsoever.

She snatched the phone up off the floor and checked the display. "Just a text from my boss," she said. "Reminding me we've got a job on Monday." She plopped back down on the bed and burrowed into Amy, cheeks pressing together as she held the phone over their heads. "Say cheese!"

"Fuck, Reagan!" Amy tried to turn away, but Reagan's finger tapped the shutter button before she could get her face all the way around to the pillow. "We've been lying here for like an hour, and we were… _busy_… before that, " Amy whined. "I probably look like shit."

Reagan tilted her head back and regarded the younger girl. "Not possible," she said.

Amy rolled her eyes. "You're biased."

"Yup," Reagan said, pressing a quick peck to Amy's lips. "But that doesn't make me any less right." She tapped the screen on the phone and brought the picture back up. "See?" she said, holding it up so Amy could see. "Fucking gorgeous."

Amy glanced at the screen. Her face was half hidden, but there was a definite smile and her hair, though mussed, didn't look like she'd been almost having sex for most of the afternoon. But she hardly noticed herself in the photo. All she could look at was Reagan, looking at her. No one had ever looked at her like that, not even Karma. It was a look that made Amy's breath hitch in her throat and her heart race just a little.

"You gonna post that?" Reagan lived for posting pics on Facebook and Instagram. It kind of reminded Amy of Karma, but those were words that would never leave her mouth, not even under penalty of death. When Reagan nodded, Amy spoke again. "Cool." She swung her legs off the bed and stood. "Just make sure you tag me in it."

"What?" Reagan knew she hadn't heard that right. In the entirety of their relationship, Amy had never once let her tag her in any pics. Reagan knew why - it was hard to keep something to yourself once it was splashed all over the Internet - but since Amy didn't complain about her posting, she didn't complain about not tagging her. "You're serious?"

Amy nodded, stretching her arms over her head. "Karma knows about you now," she said, though truthfully, that was only half of it. As nervous as she was about her best friend and her girlfriend finally meeting, Amy was more sick and fucking tired of hiding away a part of her life, especially when it was the part that made her happiest. "No more secrets," she said.

Reagan grinned and hurriedly tapped buttons on her screen, uploading the pic to her Facebook account.

_Spending time with __**Amy Raudenfeld. **__Best. Girlfriend. Ever._

* * *

><p>Facebook, Karma decided, was the fucking devil.<p>

It had been the ding of her phone, the sharp little bell tone alert from Facebook - and yeah, _that_ was the fucking devil - that had started it all. Saved by the bell?

Fuck that noise, Karma thought. Killed by the bell. Broken by the bell.

Fucking _ruined_ by the bell.

She could have ignored it. She _should_ have ignored it. She could have ignored the tone. Or she could have just checked her messages, seen the horribly cheesy 'missing you' sticker Liam had sent her (they had seen each other less than half an hour ago and sometimes, Karma was starting to think, the boy just tried too fucking hard.) She could have just seen it, sent back a quick and generic 'you too' and been done.

She could have. And she _should _ have. The moment she saw that someone had tagged Amy in a photo, she _should _have just slapped the lock button on her phone and gone on with her day. She'd only been home ten minutes. She was supposed to meet Liam in an hour.

She thought today might be the day he finally brought her to his place. Maybe her chance to meet his family.

Or maybe just another day of sneaking off somewhere semi-private so he could do his level best to fuck her and she could do hers to not let him.

He seemed to like the chase. She was growing bored with it.

Which might explain why she _didn't_ click the lock button. Why she went ahead and opened up Facebook. Why she saw that picture, why she read that tag.

_Spending time with __**Amy Raudenfeld. **__Best. Girlfriend. Ever._

Fucking Facebook. Fucking devil.

It took Karma all of three seconds to recognize the background, to know that was Amy's striped pillow tucked behind their heads, which meant they were in Amy's room.

On Amy's _bed_.

And Reagan was on the left. Her side.

And who the _fuck_ had told her that was even a _little _OK?

It took Karma all of five seconds to spot the smile on her best friend's face and ten seconds to start wondering why and how and when an Amy smile had become something that hurt her heart.

Maybe it had something to do with the girl that was clearly the cause of that smile. Or the fact that said girl _wasn't_ her.

It took Karma all of fifteen seconds to push that thought away.

And all of twenty seconds to click on Reagan's profile. Facebook might well be the devil, she thought, but even the devil has his uses.

* * *

><p>Reagan had tried. Really, she had.<p>

In the weeks since Amy had chased her down and they'd fallen together - literally and emotionally - she'd done everything she could to avoid anything even remotely connected to Karma.

Which, given that she was dating _Amy_, was something of an uphill battle.

Even with a somewhat strained friendship, Karma was ever present in Amy's life. The photos on the nightstand and the dresser and the wall. The constant texts - and God help her if the sheer volume of texts the two exchanged while they were 'distant' was less than usual - and every story about Amy's childhood that Farrah liked to embarrass her with, and practically every damn thing about her girlfriend before they met.

There was Karma.

Every once in a while, Reagan let herself feel that little bit of jealousy, that little twinge of anger, that aggravation over the fact that, apparently, some girl she'd never met was some kind of free gift with purchase.

Buy a Raudenfeld, get an Ashcroft free.

But every time she felt it - and it really was _every fucking time_ - she'd glance over at Amy and find her staring. Like she knew what was going on in Reagan's head, like she could read her mind. And every time there was a quick peck on the lips, a squeeze of the hand, a head on the shoulder, or even just that soft warm smile that turned her into a pile of melty goo.

(and when the hell had anyone been able to turn her into goo?)

It was like she knew, Reagan thought, every time. And it was in those moments when Reagan realized that there was a very distinct difference between the Amy in all those stories and photos and memories and this girl before her.

_This _Amy?

She was _hers_.

Karma be damned.

So she had tried. Really, truly tried. She'd gone above and beyond, she was sure of that. And as long as Karma remained out there, somewhere, and not an actual presence in _her _life, well, Reagan could just keep right on trying.

But, apparently, that wasn't an option anymore. Because tomorrow, she was meeting Karma.

And, suddenly, she found herself wanting answers.

She needed to know things. And she didn't like it.

But she asked anyway.

* * *

><p>Karma had to wonder if this girl had anything better to do with her life. Wasn't there anything going on for her besides Amy? Besides posting pictures on Facebook and showing off her relationship to the world?<p>

The irony of that question eluded her.

She had quickly discovered that Reagan's profile was private which meant she couldn't see much of anything, which would just not fucking _do_, now would it?

Amy hadn't changed her Facebook password since 9th grade. Why bother, she said. It's not like I've got anything on there anyone would care about.

Silly girl. Silly, silly girl.

Karma logged onto Amy's account and saw that picture - _that picture_ - again and clicked quickly on Reagan's profile, hopeful that she could banish that image - and the dozen or so she'd made up in her mind.

Silly, silly girl.

Even when she scrolled down, even when she moved away from that damn photo as fast as her mouse would carry her, all she discovered was another and another and another…

It was a black fucking hole of photos and status updates and comments and likes and seemingly every one - every _fucking_ one - was about Amy.

What was it they taught in school about black holes?

Nothing escapes.

Yeah, Karma thought, that sounded about right.

She scrolled down, remembering the date when she'd started dating Liam, her own birthday. She knew Amy and Reagan had started seeing each other shortly after that, so this trail of tears would probably start around that same time…

And there it was. The beginning. Patient Zero.

_9/26: Third date with Shrimp Girl. Convinced her to let me post a pic so you all could see she's not really a shrimp. And that I didn't make her up! LOL!_

Reagan and Amy, sitting way too close in a way too dark club and what the hell was Amy wearing, did she even own shirts that low cut?

Apparently, she did.

And what the _fuck_ was a Shrimp Girl? OK, Amy loved shrimp. But she loved donuts and bacon and horribly long documentaries and Karma, too.

Shrimp? _Fucking _shrimp.

That was the beginning. The first drop in what would quickly become a steady drizzle of Amy and Reagan.

_9/29: Hanging with Amy. Her first visit to the apartment. I even cleaned._

_10/1: Met Amy's sister and GBF. Much cooler than she let on. And I don't care what she says, __**Lauren**__, you're not the spawn of the devil!_

No, Karma agreed. _Lauren _wasn't.

The drops kept coming. One after another.

_10/3: Dinner tonight with Amy's parents. Wish me luck!_

_10/3: Dinner was great. Amy's folks are very cool. Farrah even invited me back! Score!_

_10/5: _Amy and Reagan, reclining on the swing in Shane's backyard, Amy in Reagan's lap, her head resting on Reagan's shoulder, Reagan's arms wrapped around her waist, her lips pressed to Amy's forehead.

_It's official. She asked. I said 'yes'. Reamy is a thing. _

The drops had made a puddle. It wasn't deep, yet. But Karma knew that didn't matter.

It was already deep enough to drown.

* * *

><p>"Just ask already," Amy said. "You know you want to."<p>

Reagan was sitting on the edge of the bed, her knees tucked up under her chin. She'd been staring at the photo on Amy's bedside table - her and Karma dressed up for Halloween - for going on five minutes now.

"Am I that obvious?" she asked. She knew the answer, but she tried to delay the inevitable,anyway. Maybe, she hoped, she wouldn't have to ask. Maybe, sometime in the next forty-five seconds, she'd realize it didn't matter and she didn't care and they could just forget this and go back to almost having sex.

Amy walked over and gently lowered the photo face down onto the table. "Talk to me Reagan," she said. :"Whatever it is, just talk to me."

See, Reagan thought. That's why they call it delaying the _inevitable_.

"I've been trying," she said. "Really, I have. I didn't want to push or pry, I mean it's none of my business, really. You don't go poking around in my past so…"

Amy knelt on the floor in front of her and rested her hands on Reagan's legs. "Your past doesn't have a Karma," she said quietly. She studied Reagan's face for a minute and watched how the older girl refused to meet her eyes. "I've been so fucking stupid, haven't I?"

Reagan did meet her eyes then. "What?"

Amy smiled, but it was rueful and sad. "I've been stupid." She sighed. "I've _been _Karma all this time. Oblivious. Not seeing what was right in front of me." She pulled herself up onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Reagan. "All this time I thought keeping her out of this was making it better. But it was just making it better for me." Amy tipped her head resting her forehead against Reagan's. "It's been hurting you, hasn't it?"

Reagan shrugged. Hurt wasn't quite the word for it. "At first, I didn't care," she said. "And then after I found out about… you two… then I was kind of grateful." She slid her knees down and scooted closer to Amy, further into her arms. "But then, after a while… it was like I was competing with a ghost. Except she's alive. And you see her _every _day."

"It was never a competition," Amy said.

"Maybe not for you," Reagan said. "And I guess not for her either. But that's only because she didn't even know I existed." She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She didn't know how to say it. "But I knew about her. And not just what you told me. There's Shane and Lauren, even your mom."

Amy chuckled. "I'm not sure those are the most unbiased sources when it comes to Karma," she said.

"And _you_ are?" Reagan regretted it immediately, wished she could pull the words back in. "I'm sorry," she said. "That came out wrong."

"No, it didn't," Amy said. She tightened her grip on Reagan and saw a flicker of confusion cross the older girl's face. "You're right. I'm not exactly unbiased. She's my best friend and always has been. Long before I had Shane or Lauren or you, Karma was all I had."

"Is that why you did it?" Reagan asked. "Is that why you went along with her, with faking it?"

Amy tipped her head back so she could see Reagan more clearly. "Is that really what you want to know?" she asked. "I mean, is that _all_ you want to know?"

Reagan nodded. Then shook her head. Then laughed at her own confusion. "I don't know," she said. "But it seems like a good place to start."

* * *

><p>It was October 26th that undid Karma.<p>

And who the hell was she kidding? She was undone long before then. Somewhere around the third or fourth photo of Amy and Reagan kissing or the fourth or fifth status about how happy Reagan was. Or the sixth or seventh photo of some couples outing with Theo and Lauren and Shane and his "trainer" all captioned with that stupid fucking nickname.

_Apple picking with Shrimps and the gang._

_Checking out the new X-Men with Shrimps and company._

_A night alone with my Shrimps. _

But it was the 26th that pushed her over the edge.

She could still see the texts in her mind. If she actually picked up her phone, she was sure the conversation was still there.

_Karma: Hey, Buttface. I know you don't like hanging out with me and Liam together so much, but he got these tickets to this way fancy Halloween party on Saturday night. I guess it's a Squirkle thing. But he's got extra and he's inviting Shane so I was hoping maybe you'd come?_

_Amy: I don't think so. I think I'm just going to hang out at home. _

_Karma: Amy… (I'm pouting, just so you know)... please? Pretty please? I promise Liam and I won't be coupley. We won't even hold hands. And you told me the other day you were getting over that, remember?_

_Amy: I know. It's not that. I just don't feel like a party. Besides, I don't even have a costume._

_Karma: We'll buy you one. Tomorrow after school._

_Amy: I'm not spending a bunch of money on some outfit I'm only going to wear once. Just go, Karma. Have fun. I promise, sometime next week the four of us can do something, OK? Just not on Saturday, OK?_

She'd tried for over an hour to talk her into it. Twelve text messages. Only three replies from Amy.

Even Karma could take a hint.

She'd gone to the party with Liam. Shane had refused too, so it was just the two of them. And they'd spent most of the time against the wall, away from the crowd. At one point, Karma had sworn she saw the Squirkle lady from the protest at Hester, Liam's sister.

But then Liam had tugged on her hand and led her to an empty stairwell and well, she'd forgotten the Squirkle lady five minutes later.

On Monday, when Karma told Amy about the party, her best friend had listened with rapt attention, and commented snarkily in all the right spots. When Karma asked her what she'd ended up doing, Amy told her Netflix and donuts and then went to bed early. They walked off from lunch arm in arm and Karma thought that maybe, just maybe, they were making things right again.

So when October 26th came up on Reagan's timeline?

When Karma saw the photo, read the status, and realized what exactly 'went to bed' probably meant?

That was when she knew things weren't ever going to be right again.

* * *

><p>"Why'd you do it?"<p>

It was the question - correction: _one _of the questions - Amy had been expecting. And, to be honest, she was a little surprised it took this long to get to it.

"Lauren gave you an out," Reagan . "She told everyone you two were faking and you could have just admitted it." She was snuggled into Amy so the younger girl couldn't see her face, the way her eyes were still locked on that now face-down Halloween photo. "You could have walked away. But you didn't."

"No," Amy said softly. She tangled her fingers in Reagan's hair. "I didn't walk away. I kissed her."

She felt Reagan's grip around her waist tighten a little and, as selfish as it might be, even that little sign of jealousy warmed Amy's heart. She wasn't used to being on this end of the equation.

Reagan was her. She was Karma. That made Karma, Liam.

And that was just all kinds of wrong.

"I know what you did," Reagan said, and there was no anger or hurt in her voice, which surprised Amy. "I just don't know why."

Why? Why not just ask why the sun rises in the morning or why people are so often horrible or why human beings have an appendix.

Amy wished she knew. At least about the appendix part. That had always bugged her.

As for why she had kissed Karma, why she hadn't done the reasonable, logical, _normal_ thing and just walked away?

Well, she wished she knew that too.

In her head, Amy heard a million different answers. The same ones she'd heard every moment since she'd pulled Karma to her and pressed their lips together.

_I was already in love with her, I just didn't know it. And then my heart acted before my brain could think._

_I never thought it would go as far as it did._

_I didn't think it would mean anything.._

_I wanted to be popular too. I got caught up in the moment. I didn't want to let Lauren win. It was an impulse. A blurt. A momentary loss of sanity._

_I don't know. _

Amy took a deep breath and offered up a silent little prayer that she'd find some way to explain it. _Any _of it.

"After the kiss, and after I finished freaking the _fuck _out about the kiss, I told Shane the truth." Reagan nodded against her. She knew that much. "And he was a great friend and really tried to help me. Back then, I was _so_ confused. I didn't know if I just liked Karma or if it was girls in general -"

Reagan pressed a soft kiss to Amy's neck. "I think you figured that one out," she said softly and Amy could feel her smile against her skin.

She nodded and tried to continue, tried to ignore the way even Reagan's _breath_ on her neck caused her pulse to race. "Anyway," she said, "Shane had me over to his house one day. He said he wanted to test out a theory." Amy chuckled at the memory. "He made me watch lesbian porn on the Internet."

Reagan sat up, pushing herself back from Amy. "Wait," she said. "You've watched lesbian porn?" Amy nodded, the blood flushing her cheeks. Reagan grinned and then snuggled back down against her. "Well, now I know what we're doing _next _Saturday night."

Amy groaned, though the concept wasn't _totally _unappealing. It was just _watching_, she thought. It wasn't like Reagan was suggesting they _make _lesbian por -

Her cheeks flushed again and she had to blink a few times, trying to drive that particular image from her mind.

"Um…. yeah… so…" She shook her head. "So, I tried to leave, but he told me it was important. He figured if watching that got me as hot as… um…"

"Kissing Karma?" Reagan asked and Amy nodded. "It's OK, Shrimps. I know you two kissed." She pulled herself back again until she could see Amy's face and then she pressed their lips together. It was slow and soft and when she gently nipped at Amy's bottom lip, the younger girl moaned.

When Reagan pulled away, Amy's eyes were still shut and she couldn't quite catch her breath.

"Bet Karma never kissed you like _that_."

Amy shook her head again and Reagan laughed as she snuggled back up. "So you and Shane were watching the porn…"

Amy took another deep breath, this one a little more ragged than the last. "So, I watched for a bit and it was...OK?" Reagan coughed. "_Fine_," Amy said. "It was hot. Shane has excellent taste in porn. Make sure you ask him for some recommendations before next Saturday." She heard Reagan gasp lightly and smirked. "But hot or not, lesbian porn was not fixing my problem. So I told Shane to turn it off. It was ridiculous. Nobody could get into those positions and there wasn't even any plot. There was no point, no meaning."

Reagan laughed and the vibration of it shuddered against Amy's chest. "It was _porn_, Shrimps. Most people don't watch it long enough to need plot."

"That's what Shane said," Amy replied. "He said I was looking too deep. I was looking for… how did he put it… Shakespeare in skin. Sometimes, he said, there's not much meaning or point beyond the obvious."

"I always knew Harvey was a wise man," Reagan said with a laugh. "But what exactly does this have to do with you kissing Karma?"

"Everything," Amy said. "Because the truth is, I don't _know_ why I did it." And that _was_ the truth. She hadn't known in the moment and she certainly hadn't figured it out since. "And I stopped trying to figure it out. Because it's like looking for Shakespeare in skin. It'll never make any sense and nothing will change it."

"It is what it is." Reagan said.

Amy nodded. "Exactly," she said. "I can't take it back and…" She pulled Reagan tighter against her. "I wouldn't even if I could," she said. "For a very long time, that one moment made my life a fucking mess. But now…"

Reagan leaned back slightly, so she could see Amy's face. "But now?"

Amy looked at her, and willed herself not to let the tears pool in her eyes. She was not going to to cry.

"That one moment helped me realize who I am," she said. "Maybe I would've figured it out eventually anyway and maybe I could have done it with a little less drama and pain." She brought a hand up to cup Reagan's cheek. "But, it brought me Shane. And Lauren, even if I still can't believe I'm grateful for _that_." She pressed a quick peck to Reagan's nose. "And it brought me you. And if someday we're registering for china patterns and opening joint checking accounts, then I guess it'll all make sense. Or not. But by then, it'll be another hazy high school memory and it won't matter much more than it does now."

Amy finished and watched her girlfriend. The color had drained from her face and she was biting her bottom lip.

And Amy thought back to what she had just said. _China patterns and joint checking accounts and… oh… fuck…_

She cursed herself in every way imaginable. It wasn't bad enough that she was talking about kissing another girl, she had to go and mention china patterns and joint checking?

Reagan cleared her throat and Amy thought she saw the corners of her mouth twitch up. But that was probably just wishful thinking because she had probably just scared the living shit -

"I _hate _china," Reagan said. "It's so fucking pretentious." And now Amy was sure she a smile starting. "Promise me we'll register for something cool like a big screen TV or one of those wine fridges or, oh! I know! One of those full house stereo systems that you can run from any room -"

And as Amy felt her breath come back, she sat up, pressing against Reagan's shoulders and rolled her over onto her back. She slid the older girl's arms up over her head and pinned her wrists to the bed.

Reagan smirked and arched an eyebrow. "OK, No wine fridge." she asked. And Amy growled and brought her lips crashing down onto Reagan's. "But I was serious about the stereo," Reagan mumbled in between kisses. Amy sat back up and glared at her.

"Reagan?"

"Yeah, Shrimps?"

"Shut up."

Reagan grinned up at her and that smile and that light behind her eyes? That was something Amy thought she could stare at forever and be perfectly content. "Make me," Reagan said.

And so Amy did.

And as they tangled themselves together again, all thoughts of Karma and the kiss and all the crap that had followed it faded away in a blur of lips and tongues and hands clutching at sheets.

It was the question Amy had been expecting, though it had taken longer than she expected to get there.

But sometimes, some things were worth the wait.

* * *

><p><em>I don't even have a costume.<em>

Apparently, Amy didn't consider a Supergirl outfit, complete with bare midriff - and just when Karma had almost forgotten the sight of her abs - and red leather boots to be a costume.

Just a regular Saturday night outfit then. OK.

And Karma was sure Reagan must have just had a full Wonder Woman ensemble just taking up room in her closet. She must have been so relieved that she finally had a chance to wear it.

And how wonderful for both of them that someone had decided to throw an impromptu costume - sorry, _outfit_ - party that night. Something that was clearly thrown together last minute. Certainly, if it had been planned in advance, the multi-colored spotlights in the background and the fog machine-pumped haze around Amy and Reagan's legs would have been of a much higher quality.

And was that Shane in the background? How nice of him to blow off whatever plans he had to help Amy and Reagan with this last minute affair.

_Happy Halloween from DJ Reagan and her Shrimp Girl. Hanging at the annual company holiday bash. Thanks for the party, __**Crown City Catering**__!_

_I just don't feel like a party._

Maybe the feel of Reagan's hands on her hips, fingers splayed up so close to those fucking abs - and how does someone who eats like Amy get abs like _that_? - and her warm breath on her ear as she leaned in over her shoulder had convinced Amy to be in more of a party mood.

That had to be it, right?

Because Amy wouldn't lie. Not to Karma.

_They _didn't do _that_.

At least not before Wonder Woman.

But then, as Karma clicked off Reagan's profile and back to Amy's, she quickly realized there were a lot of things her best friend hadn't done before now.

Like those three little words….

* * *

><p>These were the moments Reagan loved best. Amy's hand in hers, pressed between them, their lips moving softly and slowly against each other. She'd kissed other girls, other girls who were <em>good<em> kissers.

Amy put every one of them to shame. It wasn't even close. From their first kiss, it had been like their lips had minds of their own, like they each knew exactly what the other was going to do.

Reagan was pretty sure she could kiss Amy forever and never get tired of it.

Scratch that. Not pretty sure. _Sure_.

She felt Amy shift on the bed, and a shadow fell over her. It wasn't until the sound of the camera shutter on Amy's phone that she realized what was happening.

Reagan popped one eye open and pulled back from Amy's lips. She smiled at the sad little whimper that escaped from her girlfriend. "Did _you_ just take our picture?" Amy nodded. "Can I see it?" Amy shook her head. "Why not?"

Amy help up one finger and quickly tapped the screen of her phone. Reagan kept trying to lean over to sneak a peek, but Amy kept her at bay. Finally, she finished.

"Check," she said, grinning like a fool. She nodded at Reagan's phone. "Facebook," she said.

Reagan snatched up the phone and opened up the app, quickly spotting the update.

Amy's profile pic. The two of them, mid-kiss, shot with a nice filter and in stylish black-and-white.

"Oooh," Reagan said. "Artsy! I like."

And then she saw the status that went with it.

_In love with __**DJ Reagan. **__#bestthingtoeverhappentome_

Reagan blinked back tears and swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tapped on the screen.

* * *

><p><em>In love with <em>_**DJ Reagan. **__#bestthingtoeverhappentome_

Karma stared at the screen and wished that black hole was real and that it would swallow her up right then and there.

And then the screen blinked. A comment

_**DJ Reagan: **__I love you too, Shrimps. #myeverything_

Karma stared at the screen until the words blurred and she felt like she couldn't breathe. Somewhere in the distance her phone dinged - Facebook, again - and then Liam's ringtone and then his text tone and then and then and then

And then Karma crawled into her bed, not sure if she'd ever leave it again.


	8. Chapter 7

Karma hated Reagan. She hadn't even met her yet, but God did she hate the bitch.

Wait, she thought. Maybe that was too far. Maybe that was a little over the top. I mean, really? She couldn't say she'd honestly _ever_ hated anyone before. So, maybe hate was too strong.

So she thought for a minute. And she was starting to think that it really was a bit too much.

And then her phone dinged again. Another comment. Another reply to that stupid fucking video.

Nope. Not too strong.

Karma fucking _hated _her.

Her phone had been blowing up since yesterday afternoon, since just before she'd crawled into bed and tried to disappear, desperately hoping that sleep might bleach those images and those words from her mind.

_In love with __**DJ Reagan**_

Yeah, like there would ever be enough bleach for _that_.

_#bestthingtoeverhappentome_

It was something, Karma thought, really _something_ to have your very existence invalidated in a fucking _hashtag_.

Was there something past hate? Because if there was, Karma was pretty sure she was already there.

Another ding from the phone and she thought, briefly, about chucking the thing through the window. But then she'd probably just keep hearing the ding - ding - ding as it crashed to the ground and then she'd probably just keep hearing it in her head.

Like that story they read in American Lit. _The Tell-tale Heart._

Oh, the tales her heart could tell right about now.

She could have just shut off the alert. She could have just put the phone on silent or shut the whole damn thing down.

But those solutions were far too non-violent and not nearly masochistic enough for her urrent mood.

Plus, if she was being honest - and since she was only talking to herself, why not try for that, right? - shutting the phone off would be admitting defeat. It would be caving in and acknowledging that the dozens of classmates who were currently taking such joy in her pain had actually gotten to her.

It would be letting Reagan win.

The fact that Reagan didn't even know she was in a fight was totally beside the point.

And what if Amy texted or called? She might. She might see what was going on and feel horrible and want to console her best friend. She might.

And since when did Karma have to think of Amy in 'mights'?

The again, Amy was probably tongue deep in Reagan right about now and, _fuck_, if she was going to keep having thoughts like that, Karma was really going to have to reconsider her no drinking before noon policy.

Another ding from the phone and to _hell_ with this. She needed to get out of here. Away from her room and her house and her bed and her memories.

Getting away from her life would be best, but that didn't seem all that likely. So she snatched up the phone - and _no_, she would not _silence_ it - pulled on a pair of sneakers, grabbed her keys and headed out. She had no idea where she was going.

Oh, but wasn't she still trying to be honest?

Fine. She knew _exactly _ where she was going.

* * *

><p>By the time someone - some pimple faced, most likely to graduate a virgin freshman - posted the video the day before, Karma was already too far gone to notice. She was burrowed deep under her covers, past the point of crying, unable to sleep, feeling hungover and broken from all the images of Amy and… <em>her<em>… kissing and cuddling and _being_.

She heard the ding from the phone. But she just ignored it.

She was good at that. It was, she knew, one of her great skills. Ignoring things. Especially things she didn't want to see or hear or know.

Or feel.

Of course, those things usually came back around to bite her in the ass, eventually. Like confessions on a wedding night. Or lies revealed on a wedding night. Or not telling your parents that you weren't really a lesbian until they found you half naked with a boy in your bedroom while they were supposed to be out with the Good Karma truck.

The video, Karma discovered right around 2 am, was another in a long line of things she ignored that kicked her ass in the end.

She'd finally watched it when the alert tone woke her for the tenth time. Unlike the nine times before, this time Karma couldn't roll over and will herself back to sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Reagan's lips pressed to Amy's skin. The soft, contented look on her best friend's face.

_It's official. She 'asked'. I said yes. Reamy is a thing._

Karma couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take one more minute of that sweet, lovely, fucking romantic movie poster perfect moment playing out on an endless loop on the insides of her eyelids. So she grabbed her phone and decided to see what the hell had half her Facebook friends losing their collective minds.

It _had _to be better than what was going through hers.

By the time she was thirty seconds in - thirty _seconds_? thirty fucking _years_ - she knew that the next time she closed her eyes it wouldn't be the sweet Reamy forehead kiss she saw.

And she hadn't even read the tags, yet.

It was a crappy video. Whoever the hell had shot it had no clue about filters or angles or even holding the fucking phone steady. The image jiggled and shook and Karma had seen clearer shots when she held her fingers over the camera lens, but she was fine with that.

It was bad enough in blurry, shaky, crap-o-vision. It it had been clear, it might well have killed her.

She knew the Hester hallway immediately, and she picked out Shane and Amy within seconds. Which, she thought, was pretty impressive considering she couldn't see her best friend's face, not because of the blur, but because _she_ - and that would forever be how she referred to Reagan, she thought - _she_ had her lips fucking surgically attached to Amy's face.

Karma had seen _her_ in pictures, obviously, so she knew _she_ was attractive enough. And by 'attractive enough', she meant _fucking hot_. Seeing her in motion, all over Amy, pressing them together, their lips moving over each other's, seeing _her_ step back and then Amy - fucking _Amy_ - being so aggressive that she chased after _her_ for another kiss…

Seeing all that did nothing to dispel the _fucking hot_ description. If anything, it made it worse.

Even Karma, who was so straight you could use her as a ruler - and why did she feel the need to remind herself of that? - found herself a bit flushed watching the two of them. The video ended and Karma still stared. _Her _and Amy, faces inches apart, their foreheads resting against each other, the same way Karma and Amy had done hundreds of times.

No, she thought. Not the same way. Even perfectly still, even frozen on the screen, Karma could see it. There was want. Need. Desire. All of it right there between them. It may as well have burned its way off the screen and anyone, even someone well practiced in the art of being oblivious could see it. God, Reagan was practically oozing it.

Not that Karma was looking at _her_.

Of all the parts of Amy's feelings for her, the one thing Karma had tried hardest to ignore was the attraction. She was a smart girl, she knew that if someone said they were in love with you there were certain other… feelings… that came along with it.

Amy didn't just want to hate-watch _Twilight_ and bake snickerdoodles with her. That wasn't _all_ she wanted.

Correction. It wasn't all she _had_ wanted.

Before she could stop herself, Karma was replaying the video and her mind was wandering. Kissing Amy under the tree by the school. Watching Amy drop her trench coat at the threesome.

_Woah._

_I know._

As Reagan pulled Amy to her on the screen, Karma flashed back to truth or dare. To Lauren asking Amy if she thought about her while she masturbated. To the shock Karma had felt, to the sinking, stunned feeling that had rippled through her, not at the question, but at the thought.

The thought of Amy doing _that_.

And then Amy's non-answer, which pretty much _was_ an answer, and the way it made Karma feel a little… funny.

And not just a little wet.

Which wasn't all that different - OK, not different at _all - _from how she felt right then, watching that video over and over.

Watching _Amy_ over and over.

At 2:35 am, Karma threw her phone back down onto the floor, laid back on her bed, pulled the pillow over her face and screamed for all she was worth. She screamed until her throat burned, her lungs cried out for air, and she couldn't see Amy's blurry face or her blurry hands, or her blurry lips chasing after Reagan's.

At 2:37 am, Karma rolled over and prayed silently for sleep.

At 2:42 am, her phone let out one more tiny ding.

At 2:50 am, she rolled over, scooped up the phone, and scrolled through the comments. And it was then that she saw it. The first one, the one that had tagged her and brought this hell to her in the first place.

_Looks like __**Karma Ashcroft **__isn't the only one moving on from Karmy. Amy's got herself a girl! And she totally got the better end of this deal, cause this babe is way better than __**Liam Booker!**_

It was juvenile and stupid and the exact sort of remark Karma had been dealing with ever since she'd confessed. Ever since she and Liam had started walking hand-in-hand through the school.

It was juvenile and stupid and she was totally used to it.

But watching that video? She couldn't help but think it might be true, too.

* * *

><p>Karma had walked through the front door of Amy's house a million times. At least. It was never locked and even if it was, Amy had given her a key long ago.<p>

So why was she standing there, hand over the knob, frozen in place?

She was just going to see her friend. Her _best_ friend. She was just going to talk to her about things. About how strained their relationship was of late. How much she missed her. How happy she was that they would be at the same party that night, hanging out, just like old times.

And if, somewhere in the course of normal conversation, she happened to mention how inappropriate, indecent, and downright worrisome that video was?

She was sure Amy would understand. I mean, she _knew _Amy. And this wasn't the sort of thing Amy did. She was sure once Amy knew about it she'd be mortified. She'd regret getting so caught up in her emotions and in the moment and in whatever damn voodoo Reagan had enchanted her with, that she'd probably cry. And need comforting.

And that was the best friend job description in a nutshell.

So why was she still standing on the front step?

It had nothing to do with the pickup truck parked in front of the house. The one with the giant _PRIDE _bumper sticker on the lift-gate.

It had nothing to do with the laughter she could already hear from behind the door. The giggle she would know anywhere and the throaty chuckle she didn't _want_ to know.

It had nothing to do with suddenly feeling like an outsider in her own home.

_Second_ home. And by home, she meant the _house_.

She definitely didn't mean anything else. Any_one_ else.

Karma took a deep breath and pulled the door open, stepping inside quickly before she froze again. She paused for a moment in the entryway, hearing the voices from the living room.

_Sister… right upstairs… what are you doing?... fuck…. fuuuuck, Amy…._

If there was ever a time for her to be _not_ oblivious, to know exactly what was going on in front of her, to use common sense and turn around and run home - or at least step back out and ring the fucking bell - now was that time.

Karma's common sense - and better judgement - had checked out at 2:52 am.

She strode down the hall, walking with a purpose. Phone clutched in her hand, already cued up to that damn video. She turned the corner into the living room.

And what was left of her sanity burned away in one searing image of Amy, in only her bra - and Karma wasn't sure that little bit of fabric really qualified as a bra - straddling Reagan on the couch, the latter wearing Amy's beloved donut shirt, or at least _half _wearing it, as Amy had succeeded in pushing it up past the tops of Reagan's breasts, which was where Amy's lips were headed -

and Karma thought she might pass out on the spot.

But instead, she stood there. Totally still. Not making a sound. She wasn't even sure she was breathing as Amy's lips made contact with Reagan's skin and -

"Ashcroft, what the fuck?"

Lauren's voice, from the stairs. Karma didn't even look.

But Amy did. Her head snapped up and around and her eyes fixed on Karma.

And Karma waited for the blush. The embarrassment. The caught red-handed dive under the blankets and cover up, oh my God I might die of humiliation look Amy got for, well, for _everything_.

Instead, Amy turned to her, not bothering to cover up one inch of bare skin - and oh, _fuck_, there were those abs again - and when Karma finally managed to get her eyes back on Amy's face?

She could have sworn she saw the briefest flicker of a smirk cross her best friend's lips.

Just one more thing Karma could never unsee.


	9. Chapter 8

_**A/N: This one jumps back a little to give some background on Amy and Reagan's first few weeks, but it all ties up in the end w/the scene where Karma shows up at the house. Thanks again for all the reviews and favorites! **_

The first time Reagan met Farrah was… awkward.

Reagan hadn't met a lot of parents. But even her admittedly limited experience was enough for her to know that some things were considered bad form.

Meeting your girlfriend's mom without your shirt on? Not good.

Meeting your girlfriend's mom while straddling her daughter? Also not good. If said daughter's shirt also happened to be elsewhere? And if your hand was lightly resting on said daughter's breast (still safely tucked away in her bra, because it was only three weeks into dating and even lesbians don't move _that_ fast. Usually.) And if you were nipping lightly on the soft skin of said daughter''s neck and eliciting the most delicious moan you'd ever imagined from her?

Yeah. Awkward.

And also, _so _ the reason Amy got that lock on her bedroom door.

To be fair, neither girl had expected Farrah to be home. It was three o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon and she was supposed to be at the TV station, putting the finishing touches on a heartwarming human interest piece and prepping her forecast for the six o'clock news.

She wasn't supposed to be strolling into her daughter's bedroom like she owned the place.

Which, technically, she did, but that was so _not_ the point.

And to be fair, again, Reagan didn't see how anyone, even Farrah, could blame her for… _being_ with Amy as she was. Really, she thought, better and stronger women than her wouldn't have been able to resist that neck. Or those breasts. Or any other part of Amy, particularly not when she moaning like that and -

And thinking about how turned on your girlfriend's moan makes you, while her mother is standing behind you?

Yeah… awkward.

Somehow, and she would honestly never know _exactly _how, Reagan recovered quickly, sliding off of Amy and onto the bed next to her - being sure to keep a respectful distance - and pulling the blanket up to cover her girlfriend's almost topless form.

Which, of course, left her equally almost topless - OK, maybe a little moreso, given that she'd worn her skimpiest bra in hopes of something like this (the something with _Amy_, not this _other _something with Farrah) happening.

"You must be Amy's mom," Reagan said, mentally face-palming herself. _I'm the half-naked Queen of the Blatantly Obvious. _ She shuffled on her knees to the end of the bed and extended a hand to Farrah, making sure it wasn't the, you know, _breast_ touching hand because that would have taken awkward to heights even Reagan couldn't have brought it back from.

She smiled at Farrah, trying her damnedest to act like this was a routine meet and greet. "I'm Reagan."

She could feel Amy's eyes burning through the back of her skull, but there was no way she was breaking eye contact with Farrah.

Farrah looked at Reagan's hand, up to her daughter's bright red face, back to the hand.

And then, to the amazement of _everyone_ in the room, she _took it_. And shook it lightly.

"Farrah," she said (and she was proud that her voice only cracked a little at the beginning). "So very nice to meet you." Propriety and politeness. The hallmarks of any _real _lady.

Reagan smiled. "It's so nice to meet you too," she said. "And may I just say, you have a _lovely _home."

Amy pulled the blanket up over her head and wished that she would never have to crawl out from under it again.

_Lovely home_, Amy thought. _Lovely home? I'm going to die. Either from embarrassment or murder, but I'm not making it out of this room alive._

For her part, Farrah just stared blankly at Reagan. It wasn't just that she hadn't been expecting this, it was that she'd actually gotten _used _to not expecting this. She'd thought maybe Lauren, back when she was dating Tommy. But Amy? With someone in her room?

Someone kneeling on the edge of her bed, in an exceptionally tight pair of jeans and some leopard print fabric that she assumed was meant to be a bra? Someone who had, just moments ago, made her daughter make a sound that Farrah hoped to never again have to hear in her lifetime?

Someone who had gotten that kind of reaction out of Amy? Out of _Amy?_

Someone who _wasn't _Karma?

Farrah's mind didn't know how to process that. Any of it. All of it.

She just stared at Reagan for a long moment. Long enough for the younger girl to wonder if she should be making a mad dash for her clothes and then running for her truck, or if maybe a dive out the window would be better...

And then Farrah laughed.

It was less laugh and more snort-slash-cough-slash-giggle at first, and Reagan briefly thought the older woman might be having some kind of stroke - and talk about _awkward_ - but then it turned into full on body-shaking laughter, Farrah teetering so badly on her heels that she had to lean back against Amy's door for support.

Amy popped up, still clutching the blanket around her, pulling it up to her chin as if her mother had never seen breasts before. As if Reagan's weren't right out there in almost all their glory.

"Mom?"

Farrah held up finger, pausing Amy until she could get herself back under control. The laughter slowly fizzled out, ending in a somewhat bemused 'hmmm' , before Farrah straightened herself up and stepped back out of the door.

"Put your shirts on and come downstairs," she said. "Amy, go to the kitchen, there's some doughnuts on the counter and there should be some soda in the fridge. Reagan, why don't you come sit with me in the living room? We should probably talk."

And so it was that Reagan and Farrah's first meeting ended with the three women talking about everything and nothing over doughnuts and Diet Coke.

And even though she smiled and laughed - more than she thought she would - Amy never stopped blushing once.

* * *

><p>The second time Reagan met Farrah, she'd officially been invited.<p>

"My mom wants you to come over for dinner," Amy said. Her back was pressed up against the door to Reagan's apartment and the older girl was trailing soft kisses across her neck - and damn, did Reagan love that spot. It had been three days since they'd seen each other which, apparently, was at least two and a half days more than Reagan could handle.

"Really?" Reagan mumbled against Amy's skin. Her hands slid down the door and onto Amy's hips, allowing her to pull Amy closer, not that Amy needed much pulling, one hand already tangled in Reagan's hair and the other one trailing down her back, getting closer and closer to her ass.

"Yes," Amy said. _Moaned. _And Reagan wasn't sure if it was an answer to the question or an answer to her tongue swiping against Amy's earlobe. The younger girl's hand clenched on the back of Reagan's shirt as she tipped her head back against the door.

"Guess I made a better first impression than I thought." Reagan slid her arms around Amy's back and let her hands roam up under the blonde's shirt. The feel of Amy's skin against her fingers was rapidly making this conversation impossible.

Amy pulled back - barely - and eyed Reagan. "Are you kidding me?" she asked, her voice hitching slightly as Reagan's nails traced along her spine. "She hasn't stopped talking about you since… you know."

Reagan leaned forward, her lips sliding along Amy's collarbone. "You mean since she walked in on me feeling you up?"

Amy groaned, both from the feeling of Reagan's lips and from her words. Four weeks into this and she was just fine with the _doing_ of things. Talking about them? That was still a work in progress.

Still, the way Reagan's hand had slid around her body and was now scraping along the skin of her stomach was somewhat… _inspiring._

"I was going to say since she saw you doing what you should be doing _now_," Amy said, as she pushed Reagan back into the room, steering her to the couch. "Unless you want to keep _talking_."

Reagan grinned. Slowly but surely, Amy was becoming more and more confident. And that meant she was becoming sexier and sexier, which Reagan hadn't believed was possible.

But, as Amy straddled her and pulled her shirt over her head, Reagan was convinced, yet again, that it should be illegal for someone to be that hot.

"I don't know, Shrimps," she said letting her eyes and hands roam over Amy's newly exposed skin. "Talking is good. I like talking."

Amy leaned down, pressing her lips to Reagan's ear, which had the added benefit of leaving her chest perilously close to the older girl's lips. "I like _you_," she said.

And so it was that, once they'd stopped 'talking', Reagan had agreed to dinner. And so, on a warm Wednesday night in Austin, Reagan found herself sitting between Amy and Bruce, across from Farrah and Lauren, eating spaghetti, meatballs, and homemade garlic bread she had brought with her.

It was, as she posted on Facebook later that night, a great time. And Farrah did, in fact, invite her back.

And when she overheard Amy's mom telling Bruce that Lauren had been right, and Reagan really was a lovely girl?

It was Reagan's turn to blush.

* * *

><p>The first time Reagan was alone with Farrah was that same Wednesday night.<p>

To be honest, she'd been expecting it. She might not have met a lot of parents, but she'd heard enough to know that most first meetings - and this was the _real_ first for them - ended something like this.

Farrah stood up from the table and ushered Lauren, Bruce, and Amy off to do the dishes and clean up from dinner. "I cooked," she said. "And so did Reagan. Now y'all get in there and do your share. And Amy, don't you even think about putting those dishes in the dishwasher without scraping them first."

Amy started to protest, but Reagan cut her off. "You heard your mother, Shrimps. Get in there." She smiled at Farrah. "Us _ladies _are going to talk."

Amy opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it, then glared at Reagan as she snatched the salad bowl off the table and headed for the kitchen. Reagan watched her go - she was incapable of _not _staring at Amy's ass in those jeans - and then turned to follow Farrah into the living room.

She wasn't nervous, not really. Hell, once your girlfriend's mom had witnessed your foreplay skills, there wasn't much worse that could happen. Still, as she approached Farrah in the far corner of the room, Reagan had a feeling that this wasn't going to be normal chit chat.

Farrah was standing in front of a circular grouping of pictures on the wall. Reagan looked them over and quickly realized that they were all of Amy at various points in her life. Farrah pointed at one near the top of the circle. "That," she said, "was Amy on her seventh birthday. She was so cute,"

Reagan glanced back over her shoulder and saw Amy taking a quick peek at them from the kitchen. She smiled at her and Amy turned back to Lauren who was shoving a serving platter at her.

"She still is," Reagan said softly.

Farrah smiled. She'd had a feeling about this girl, in some ways even before she knew Reagan existed.

Reagan turned her eyes back to the photos. She recognized Amy in all of them, she'd know that face anywhere. But she didn't look the same, and not just in the way everyone looks different from then till now. Amy was different from one picture to the next. In some of them, the youngest ones, Reagan could scarcely believe it was the same girl

The smile was too big. The eyes were too bright.

Looking at those pictures made Reagan's heart hurt but she didn't know quite why.

"She's changed, hasn't she?" Farrah asked and Reagan nodded. "You see those pictures?' she asked, pointing at the pictures of the youngest Amy. "From the day she was born until her seventh birthday." Then her arm swept in a circle, encompassing all the other photos. "And from then until today."

"What happened?" Reagan asked, then quickly realized she might have been crossing a line. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind at all, sweetie." Farrah said, smiling at the girl.. "You see that arm, right there?" The older woman pointed at an arm wrapped around seven-year-old Amy's waist in the birthday party shot, holding her as she stood on a chair to blow out her birthday candles.

Farrah frowned and then sighed. "That's Amy's father."

* * *

><p>The first time Amy ever mentioned her father to Reagan was also, for a long time, the last.<p>

They were cuddling under a tree at a park near Reagan's apartment. Two and a half weeks of hanging out - which, loosely translated meant two and a half weeks of cuddling, making out, and texting until the wee hours of the morning - and Amy had already decided that even if they broke up she was still going to need some kind of cuddle privileges.

Making out privileges would be nice too.

And texting. And talking. And, fuck, they just weren't breaking up. Like, _ever_.

"Tell me something," Reagan said. Amy's head was resting on her shoulder and their hands were laced together in Reagan's lap. "Tell me something you've never told anyone."

Reagan wasn't expecting much. Amy was opening up, a little at a time, but the older girl didn't figure she was going to get some deep revelation.

She was wrong.

Amy shifted slightly, tucking her head further under Reagan's chin. "My father left because of me," she said. "He told me, before he left, that it was my fault."

At that moment, Reagan had an almost uncontrollable urge to find Amy's father and kick his ass.

And then kick it again.

Instead, she squeezed Amy's hand in hers, and kissed the top of her head.

They sat there quietly, cuddled together, until it got dark and Reagan drove Amy home.

* * *

><p>Reagan threw a quick glance back at the kitchen.<p>

"Don't worry," Farrah said. "I told Lauren and Bruce to keep her busy for a few minutes."

The younger girl arched an eyebrow. Farrah had planned this?

"Amy's father, Jack, left us six weeks after that picture was taken." Farrah shook her head. Sometimes, it seemed like it had just happened. She loved Bruce and Lauren and the life she had now. But time may heal all wounds.

But healing doesn't always mean _not_ hurting.

"I'm guessing she doesn't talk about him much?"

Reagan shook her head. "Not with me, at least."

Farrah smiled. "Don't worry, sweetie. I don't think she talks about him with anyone. Not even Karma."

It was the first time Reagan had heard Amy's mother mention the 'other' girl in her daughter's life. She was surprised by the way Farrah said the name. It was not unlike the way someone might talk about sunburn or a winter cold.

Not the worst thing in the world. But not anything you'd really want, either.

Something to be put up with. Waited out.

_Endured_.

"That's her," Farrah said, pointing at a small red-haired girl in the picture. "Little Karma. She and Amy were already best friends. They had other friends back then, a whole little gang of them, but they were always together, already inseparable."

So inseparable, Reagan thought, that in a month of dating, she still hadn't met the girl.

Farrah pointed at the cake in the picture. "Her favorite part of every birthday was blowing out the candles." She smiled at the photo but Reagan was pretty sure she saw tears threatening.

Reagan wanted to reach out. She wanted to tell Farrah that whatever it was she was building to, it could wait. It couldn't be that important.

But Reagan simply stood there, quietly. Letting Farrah get to it in her own way, her own time.

Because, she had a feeling, that it was _that_ important.

"That year," Farrah said, "I bought her those trick candles, the kind that light back up after you blow them out." She pointed at the picture again. "I took that shot as she was blowing them out for the _fifth _time. I'd never seen her face light up like that."

Reagan watched Farrah stare at the photo of her little girl. _How does Amy not know_, she wondered. _How does she not know how much she means to her mother?_

Farrah turned to Reagan, taking one of her hands between both of hers. "After her father left, Amy pulled away. She just… disappeared. And I let her. Even before that, I didn't know how to relate to her, not like I wanted to." She stared at the floor and Reagan squeezed her hand. "She was her father's daughter. She may look like me but she's… all _him_."

Farrah glanced back at the picture and Reagan saw her eyes darken. "All those other friends," she said, "they just drifted away. And Amy… she just didn't have it in her to try and make them stay. In the end, the only one left was Karma."

"Sounds like she was a good friend," Reagan said.

Farrah nodded. "Whatever other feelings I may have about _that_ young lady, I will always be grateful for that. She was there for Amy when… when I couldn't be."

Reagan could see the guilt all over Farrah's face and she didn't know what to do. She wanted to hug her, to tell her it was OK, to remind her that Amy had turned out pretty damn amazing and that _she_ had to have had something to do with that.

But it wasn't her place. Not yet, at least.

Farrah finally pulled her eyes away from the picture. "But even with Karma, Amy was never quite the same. She smiled, she laughed, she had fun. But she didn't light up anymore. She wasn't just going through the motions, but she wasn't trying to do much more than that, either."

Farrah turned and looked at Reagan, who did her best not to flinch under the older woman's gaze.

"If Amy knew we were talking about any of this, she'd kill me." Farrah gave her a little conspiratorial wink, but then her face turned serious again. "I'm not going to to ask you what your intentions are toward my daughter or if you love her. That's none of my business."

Reagan wondered if telling Farrah she was falling hard and fast for her daughter would make this moment any more or less awkward.

"But," Farrah said, "I do want to tell you something. And I hope it means something to you, because it means, well, it means a great deal to me."

"OK," Reagan said, unsure of what else she could say.

"I'm sure you remember the first day we met?" Reagan blushed at the question.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't think I'll ever forget _that_."

Farrah smiled at her. "Me either," she said. "But not for the reasons you think." She squeezed Reagan's hand. "When the three of sat there, eating donuts and drinking Diet Coke… that was the first time in nine years that I saw _my_ little girl again. She was bigger and older, obviously. But it was _her_."

Farrah blinked back tears and it warmed her heart when she saw that Reagan wasn't even trying to hide hers.

"And then there was the moment when I told Amy to invite you for dinner." Farrah smiled at Reagan and the younger girl's heart hurt again, in the best way.

"That moment," Farrah said, "You'd have thought I gave her trick candles all over again."

* * *

><p>The day Reagan and Amy said 'I love you' for the first time which was, by Reagan's best recollection the 10th or 11th time she had dinner with Amy and Bruce and Farrah, was also the day of the donut shirt.<p>

After Reagan had tackled Amy onto the bed, the girls had spent the rest of the afternoon making out and talking and making out and talking and making out and making out and making out…

By the time they were done, Amy was quite sure that if Reagan didn't get down to it and make love to her soon, she might well explode. As it was, she was sure Bruce and Farrah would be able to see the frustration and pleasure and just how fucking _turned on_ she was all over her face.

And when Reagan slipped an arm around her waist while she was standing at the sink cutting carrots for dinner? When she trailed her fingers softly just under the waistband of Amy's jeans and placed one soft kiss on the back of the younger girl's neck?

Amy dropped the knife into the sink, the clattering of metal on metal drawing Bruce's attention from the two bubbling pots on the stove.

"You OK over there, Amy?"

Amy just nodded, unable to trust her voice. And she silently cursed Reagan, who had already moved away, helping Farrah to set the table, and Amy didn't even have to look to know her girlfriend had that damn self-satisfied smirk on her face.

After dinner, the girls cuddled on the couch while Bruce and Farrah puttered around the house doing… well… Amy didn't know what the hell they were doing, she didn't even know what was happening in the movie they were watching, all she _did _know was Reagan.

Reagan's hand running casually up and down her leg, a little bit higher each time.

Reagan snuggled into her side, so close there wasn't even room for air between them.

Reagan's lips on her cheek or her neck or her fingertips or her jaw… a new place every thirty _fucking _seconds which, Amy thought, was about the length of time she was away from throwing Reagan down and ending this wonderful misery herself.

Finally, Bruce and Farrah headed off to bed, but not before reminding Amy that yes, Reagan could stay (like she wouldn't have snuck back in anyway) but only if Amy's bedroom door stayed open.

Amy nodded. And she meant it. She'd leave the door open.

Once they were actually going to _sleep_.

Reagan headed up first while Amy stayed downstairs to make sure the lights were off, the front door was locked, and that she regained at least some of her composure. By the time she reached her room, Reagan had already changed and was waiting for her on the bed.

In Amy's donut shirt.

The only material possession Amy even sort of cared about. The shirt she'd once slapped out of Karma's hands at a sleep over.

The shirt that was just barely covering Reagan's thighs and sliding up ever so much higher every time she moved.

"Hope you don't mind," Reagan said, reclining on the bed and gesturing at the shirt. Her smirk made one thing _very _clear. If Amy did mind? She was welcome to come take the shirt off.

Reagan was kind of hoping she might.

Amy shut the door and clicked the lock, and Reagan stretched out on the bed in anticipation. But then, much to the surprise of both girls, Amy just stood there, leaning against the door.

The sight of Reagan in _that_ shirt, did something to her and she didn't quite understand it. It wasn't like Reagan hadn't borrowed clothes from her before. But seeing her there, on her bed, in that particular shirt, the single dorkiest piece of clothing she owned…

It was ridiculous. It was a shirt. A fucking _donut _shirt, for crying out loud.

But it was that shirt that finally made it click. Reagan loved her. Not just loved - _in love_. Reagan wanted Amy the way Amy wanted her. Amy didn't have to feel bad for looking at Reagan and imagining a future, she didn't have to tear herself up inside for ruining things with her feelings, she didn't have to do anything to make Reagan want her to stay.

Reagan already did. She wanted her to stay. She _wanted_ her. Always.

As Amy stood there, realizing, Reagan watched her, her forehead slowly creasing in worry. She slipped off the edge of the bed and moved to Amy. "Shrimps? You OK? If it's the shirt, I can take it off-"

But then Amy cut her off, crashing their lips together, cradling Reagan's face between her hands. Amy kissed her, slowly and deliberately, with everything she had been feeling all day long, from the relief of telling Karma to the exhilaration of seeing Reagan headed towards in the hall, to the way she'd felt her entire world shift when Reagan said 'I love you', _all of it_ was poured into that one kiss.

When they finally pulled back, Reagan wasn't even sure she could stand. She stared at Amy, her eyes dark and swimming with need and lust and love.

"It's yours," Amy said.

"What?" Reagan asked. "The shirt?"

Amy nodded. "The shirt," she said. "_My _shirt. My closet, My bed. My heart." She pulled Reagan to her again, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "_Me_."

She'd said it already that day, more than once. And she'd say it again the next day and the day after that and the one after that and all the ones after that until Reagan got sick of her.

But right then? At the end of what might have been the happiest day of Amy's life?

She just had to say it one more time.

"I love you."

* * *

><p>Amy woke to find herself alone in her bed. She blinked against the dark and felt the spot where Reagan had been. It was still warm.<p>

She hadn't been gone long.

Amy left her bed and made her way into the hall. The light was on in the living room and so she quietly headed down the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky third step so as to not risk waking Farrah or Bruce, or Lauren if she'd finally come home from her date with Theo.

She spotted her girlfriend in the far corner, near what Reagan liked to call Farrah's 'wall of Shrimps'.

Amy hated the pictures on that wall. Hated the way they seemed to divide her life. It was bad enough that she'd spent so much of her own time thinking of her life in terms of before kissing Karma and after kissing Karma.

She didn't want her life defined by moments anymore.

Especially not ones about her father.

She slipped across the room and slid up behind Reagan, wrapping her arms around the older girl's waist. Her stomach flipped, as it _always _did when she first touched Reagan after a separation, even if it had only been thirty seconds apart.

"Hey," she said quietly into her girlfriend's ear. "I woke up and you were gone."

Reagan gently ran her fingers along Amy's arm. "I'm never far," she said. "You know that."

"I do," Amy agreed. "You OK?"

Reagan nodded. "Couldn't sleep. Didn't want to wake you." She was staring at the latest photo on the wall. Amy, Lauren, Farrah, and her, taken the night of their first "family" dinner. "I still can't believe your mom framed that."

Amy rested her head on Reagan's shoulder. "She told it was the first picture in years with me and her together and me smiling."

"She loves you, you know," Reagan said. "Like, a lot."

Amy stepped back and turned Reagan around, into her arms. "I know," she said. "Just like I know there's something wrong." She brushed Reagan's hair back out of her face. "Talk to me, Rea. What's going on?"

Reagan frowned, refusing to meet Amy's eyes. "Its nothing," she said. "I'm just… worried."

Amy took Reagan's hand and led her to the couch, pulling the older girl down next to her. "Worried about what?"

Reagan pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. "We've built ourselves this little world," she said. "You and me and Shane and Lauren and Theo and even Duke. But we've just been hiding in it. And now, tomorrow…"

Realization struck. "And now tomorrow is the party," Amy said. "Tomorrow is Karma."

Reagan nodded. "I'm being stupid, I know," she said. "I just can't help feeling like reality's about to set in and everything that's been so perfect is going to… "

Amy slid her legs up onto the couch, one on each side of Reagan. "You don't think Karma's going to change _us_, do you?"

Reagan shook her head. "What?" she said. "No."

If she hadn't known how much it had to be killing Reagan for her to even let it show this much, Amy might have thought the little denial was cute.

"Stay here," she said, hopping up from the couch. She dashed back to the other end of the living room, pulling two photos off the wall. She clambered back onto the couch and handed them to Reagan.

One was the picture they'd just been talking about. The other was one of Amy and Karma on a trip to the beach. Matching swimsuits and goofy summer hats, blue sky and perfect water behind them.

Amy pointed at herself in each picture. "Notice anything?"

"You've always looked good in a swimsuit?"

Amy blushed and shook her head. "The smiles, you perv. Look at the smiles."

Reagan did, remembering what Farrah had said to her that night. In the recent photo, Amy was smiling naturally, like she'd been caught laughing at something. It lit up her face and made her eyes look like they were dancing.

The photo with Karma? Amy was still smiling. It didn't look _forced_, but you could tell she was thinking snarky thoughts behind those eyes. Reagan figured as soon as the camera shutter had stopped, Amy was probably complaining about sand between her toes and that she was going to get heat stroke.

Amy finally spoke again. "I loved Karma," she said. "And there were times that feeling like that made me so incredibly happy." She took the pictures from Reagan and set them down on the floor. "But most of the time, especially near the end, it just made me miserable. Telling her how I felt should have at least been a relief. But it was more like torture, even _before_ she rejected me."

Not for the first time, Reagan offered up a silent thank you that Karma was straight or at least too wrapped up in her own head to see what she could've had.

"Loving you," Amy said, "is never like that. Loving _you_ makes me feel… right. And I know what you're thinking. How can two months compete with ten years. And you're right. It can't." Amy took Reagan's hands in hers. "But the possibility, the _hope_ that maybe, someday, there'll be ten years for us too?" She brought both of Reagan's hands to her chest. "I haven't felt hope like that, ever. And I won't give it up. Not for anything. Not for _anyone_."

Reagan slid her knees forward and climbed into Amy's lap, wrapping her arms around the blonde's neck. "You're such a sap, Shrimps."

The jab might have been a little more convincing if Reagan hadn't been blinking back tears.

They spent the rest of the night on the couch, holding each other, neither wanting to separate even long enough to go back upstairs.

* * *

><p>Amy woke to purple hairs tickling her nose and soft skin against her own.<p>

It wasn't the first time she'd woken up next to Reagan. And, compared to the last time, the night things had gotten "heated" at Reagan's apartment, she was still fairly clothed. She wasn't sure if she thought that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Given that they were on the couch in the living room, it was probably good. Bruce and Farrah had been very liberal and very understanding.

Two naked teenage girls on the couch might test anyone's understanding. Even in Austin.

Reagan stirred against her, her arms tightening around Amy's waist. She rolled her head back, blinking her eyes against the sun spearing its way through the half-drawn blinds.

"Morning," Amy said, pressing a soft kiss to her girlfriend's forehead.

Reagan grunted something unintelligible and yawned. Amy found it endlessly amusing that she was dating the one woman on the planet who was less of a morning person than she was.

"I think Bruce and my mom already left for the day," Amy said. She could see a note on the dining room table, which usually meant her parents were off on some shopping spree or golfing or both.

"Sooooo?" Reagan asked, her hands slowly sliding under Amy's t-shirt, nails scratching their way up the younger girl's back.

"So…" Amy said. "I was thinking we could…" Her voice trailed off as Reagan's hand finished its journey down her back, and the tips of her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts.

"We could, what?" Reagan asked. Her fingers slid down even further, tracing tiny circles from the edge of Amy's hip to the curve of her ass. "Have breakfast? Play ping-pong? Bring peace to the Middle East?"

"Get a room?'" The voice from behind the couch snapped them out of the moment. "Preferably one without furniture I have to sit on?"

Reagan's head popped up and she saw Lauren leaning against the kitchen table. "Lolo!" she yelled, bolting from the couch and practically tackling the small blonde in a hug.

Lauren stumbled back a step before wrapping her arms around Reagan. "Hey, Rea," she laughed. She glanced over the older girl's shoulder to Amy sitting on the couch. "Morning, bitch."

Amy smiled. "Morning, skank."

"Whore."

"Slut."

"Tramp."

"Trollop."

Lauren paused and even Reagan turned and eyed Amy. "Did you actually just drop a 'trollop' on me?" Lauren asked. "Who got you the thesaurus?"

Amy stuck her tongue out at her. "I do know a few words, OK?"

Lauren nodded. "I know you do," she said. "But I figured the list didn't get much past your life essentials. You know, doughnuts, Netflix, bacon."

Amy's eyes lit up at the mention of bacon. "Well, if it's essentials," she said. "You'd have to toss Reagan on the list too."

Reagan broke from her embrace with Lauren and pantomimed swooning. "Oh, _dahling_," she said. "You're sooooo sweet." She grinned at Amy. But who are you kidding? We all know all you really need is the doughnuts."

"I do love a good doughnut," Amy agreed. She reached one arm over the back of the couch and tugged Reagan to her by the tail of her donut shirt. "But not as much as I love you."

"So it _is_ official," Lauren said. "I saw it on Facebook, but you two have actually said the words?" Reagan nodded as Lauren pulled her phone out and tapped away frantically. She let out a little "yes!" as she she finished typing.

"Do I even want to know?" Amy asked, nodding at the phone.

"I was texting Shane," Lauren said. "I bet him fifty bucks you two would 'love it up' before he could get MMA boy to come out of the closet for him."

Amy rolled her eyes. "You were betting on my love life?"

Reagan swung her legs over the back of the couch and dropped back into Amy's lap. "Don't feel bad, Shrimps. I bet him too." She glanced at Lauren. "Tell him he better be ready to pay up tonight."

Amy groaned and shoved Reagan off her lap, mock indignation on her face. She crawled over her girlfriend, bringing her lips within inches of Reagan's. "So you were that confident I was going to say it?"

Reagan leaned up and caught Amy's lips for a quick kiss. "Of course, I was," she said. "I mean, come on. Who could resist all this?" she asked as she waved her hand up and down her body.

"Well _you_," Lauren said nodding at Amy, "better resist until at least I'm out of the room."

Amy stared down at Reagan as she slid her knees up the couch, straddling the older girl. "I can't make any promises, _Lolo_."

"Ugh," Lauren groaned. "I think I liked you better when you were all chaste and virginal and unrequited." The smile on her face took the sting out of the words. "I am going to up to take a shower and then, dear sister, we are going shopping."

Amy pulled her eyes from Reagan long enough to shoot Lauren a quizzical glare. "Shopping?"

Lauren nodded as she headed for the stairs. "Yup. Shane asked me to help you get a new outfit for tonight. Something flattering. And without food on it." She hurried up the stairs, yelling down from the top. "I'll be ready in fifteen, so don't go starting anything you won't have time to finish!"

"Fifteen minutes, huh?" Amy asked, sliding her hands up Reagan's sides. "Whatever could we do in fifteen minutes?"

"Shrimps…" Reagan said by way of warning. "Don't go getting any ideas."

"I don't have to go get them," Amy said. "I've _had _them. Ever since the other night at your place."

Amy's hands gripped the hem of the donut shirt and slowly slid it up Reagan's body, her eyes fixated on every inch of slowly appearing skin.

"You know what my favorite part of the other night was?" Amy asked. Reagan shook her head, the feel of Amy's fingers sliding against her skin making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. "I liked it when we were naked. And all I could feel was your skin on mine." She tugged the shirt up over the tops of Reagan's breasts and the older girl shuddered. "I liked that," she said. "A lot."

Amy sat up suddenly, and yanked her own shirt off in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the floor. She laid down onto Reagan, their stomachs pressing together, their bras the only thing between them.

"Amy," Reagan managed to breathe out. "Your sister is right upstairs." Amy's hands slid up her sides again, stopping just short of her breasts. "What you are doing?" she gasped. Amy sat up a little, making more room for her hands between them, letting them roam across Reagan's chest. "Fuck," Reagan moaned. Amy leaned down, licking her lips as they came closer and closer to the tops of Reagan's breasts. "Fuuuuuck, Amy…."

And then?

"Ashcroft, what the fuck?"

Amy's head, hell, her entire body snapped around. She saw Karma, standing there, by the end of the stairs. She saw Karma while she could still feel Reagan beneath her and _that_ was a new sensation.

Reagan tilted her head up from the couch, spotting the red headed girl she'd only seen in pictures. And just as she had with Farrah, Reagan recovered first.

"Hey," she said, hands still gripping Amy's hips, which was probably not the best idea, but with Amy on top of her, there was no 'respectful distance' this time.

"You must be Karma," she said. "I'm Reagan."

And that was how Karma met Reagan.

And it was all downhill from there.


	10. Chapter 9

This was _not_ how Amy had planned it.

OK, so maybe she hadn't planned it. Maybe that was her first mistake. If she'd been smarter, she would have made sure this scenario never played out in any way that was totally in her control.

But since when had anything in her life been in _her _control?

So, no, she hadn't planned this. Worried about it? Yes. Feared it? Yup. _Dreaded _it? Definitely.

But not planned it. And, honestly, was that really all that surprising? She wasn't the planner, she never had been.

That was Karma's job.

Though, from the look on Karma's face as she stared at Amy and Reagan - mostly at Amy - Amy wasn't entirely sure her best friend had planned this either. At least not that well.

Maybe she should have had a dossier. _How to Introduce Your Girlfriend to Your Fake Ex /BFF in Three Easy Steps_.

Step one: Don't let your fake ex / bff walk in on you half naked. With your girlfriend's hands on your hips. Her leg pressed tight between your thighs. The taste of her skin still lingering on your lips.

Correction: Step one - lock the _fucking _front door.

Yeah, Amy thought. Planning might have been better.

"Hey," said Reagan from beneath her. "You must be Karma. I'm Reagan."

If Amy had thought this wasn't going to end well before, then the dark glare Karma fixed Reagan with pretty much assured her that, no, this wasn't going to end well. This wasn't going to end anywhere in the neighborhood of well.

Fucking Liam had gone better than this was going to.

Amy's only hope was that _this_ lasted as long as _that _had. At least then the torture would be over quick.

Karma hadn't moved even an inch, save for her eyes. Her head tilted slightly as she regarded Reagan. Amy watched as Karma's eyes slid across Reagan's face, then traced the path of her arms, down to her hands, still gripping tightly to Amy's hips.

Amy saw the look. The way Karma's eyes grew just a little wider. The way she swallowed hard and stared, like if she looked long enough and hard enough she could make whatever it was just disappear.

Amy _knew_ that look.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._

This was the fucking threesome all over again.

"I know who you are," Karma said, still not moving. Her eyes drifted back down to meet Reagan's. "I think _everyone_ know who you are."

Lauren came down off the last step, leaning against the railing. "And what the _fuck_," she asked "is that supposed to mean?"

Amy sighed. In the last couple of months she'd come to realize that while Lauren wasn't really a bitch, if you fucked with her, her family, or those she cared about, she could cut you in half with just a word.

And Karma wasn't family. And Lauren sure as hell didn't care about her.

Karma didn't even bother to look at Lauren. As far as Karma was concerned, Lauren was an afterthought, an onlooker, an unneeded - and unwanted - third wheel.

"Why don't you ask Amy," Karma said. "Or, better yet, just _watch_." She held out her phone to Lauren without breaking eye contact with Amy. "Go ahead," she said, nodding at the phone. "It's quite the show."

Lauren grabbed the phone out of Karma's hand, took one look at the screen, and scowled. "It's locked, Ashcroft."

"0614," Amy said, without thinking. She felt Reagan's grip tighten just a little on her hips as her girlfriend recognized the numbers.

Amy's birthday.

Lauren tapped in the code and the video loaded up on the screen. She hit play and watched as Reagan strolled into view, wrapped her arms around Amy, and… well then…

"Damn," Lauren muttered under her breath. She was as straight as they came _and_ she'd been watching her sister and Reagan make out for almost two months, but still… _damn._

"Lolo?" Reagan asked.

Karma flinched, her eyes dropping to Reagan but quickly back up to stare at Amy. The question in her eyes was so clear.

_Lolo? They have nicknames? What the fuck universe have I drifted into?_

Lauren rose from the stairs and walked the three steps over to Amy, handing her the phone. "I'd heard the gossip mill yesterday," she said. "But seeing it…":

Amy glanced down at the paused video on the screen, saw herself and Shane and Reagan and the hallway she knew all too well.

She felt her cheeks flush. Like she'd just gotten caught doing something wrong. Like someone had taped her cheating on her math test or letting the air out of Liam's tires.

Amy shook her head. She'd done nothing wrong. Nothing to be ashamed of.

She glanced up at Karma. And she knew they didn't share _that_ opinion.

Reagan sat up, scrambling onto her knees behind Amy, an arm slipping around her waist, her chin resting on the blonde's shoulder as Amy pressed play on the video.

"Oh," Reagan said. "That's us."

"That's _you_," Karma corrected. Amy looked at her, struck by the way Karma was fixated on the arm Reagan had slung around Amy's waist, the way she was watching as Reagan absently traced little circles on Amy's abs. "That's _not_ Amy."

Amy felt Reagan's head tilt up on her shoulder and her arm tense around her. She'd only seen Reagan truly pissed off once, after an encounter with a drunken jackass at a catering event. The guy had cornered Reagan out back of the event hall, pressed himself up against her in the alley, made some comment about all she needed was a _real _man to fuck the gay right out of her.

It had taken three _real_ men to carry drunken jackass to his car. And ten _real_ stitches to stop the bleeding.

Amy gripped Reagan's hand on her stomach and laced their fingers together. She heard, then felt, her girlfriend's breathing even out.

"What the hell are you talking about, Karma?" Lauren said. "That's Amy. I mean, yeah, the video's shit, and they're both a little washed out, but don't kid yourself. _That's _my sister."

Karma's eyes finally left Amy as she wheeled on Lauren who, apparently, had finally pushed a little too far. "_Step_-sister," she said. She glanced back at Amy quickly, clearly waiting for Amy to chime in, to support her, to remind Lauren of her place.

She was going to be waiting a while.

"I know it's Amy," Karma said finally, fixing Amy with a confused stare, even more lost in this new dynamic than before. "I'd _know_ Amy anywhere. What I meant was, that's not _like_ her. Amy doesn't do things like… _that_." She waved her hand at the phone still clutched between Amy's fingers.

"Like what?" Lauren asked. She didn't have patience for Karma's crap on a good day and this one was already not heading in that direction. "Kissing her girlfriend?"

Karma's eyes grew wide and Amy saw it coming. This was the moment. The t-minus twenty seconds and counting moment.

The 'horny parrot' moment. The 'I can't do this' moment. The 'I'm a fucking teenage girl' moment.

The Amy is so royally _fucked_ moment.

"Kissing?" Karma's voice hit an octave Amy didn't know she could reach. "That's what you call _that_? _Kissing_?" Karma laughed, though it came out choked and broken, like a death rattle. "Amy kisses. Amy doesn't do _that," _she said, pointing wildly at the phone. "Amy doesn't do PDA's. Tongue wrestling in the hall. Showing off everything for the leering masses. It's practically fucking porn!"

Lauren took one cautious step toward Karma, and placed a hand on her arm. "No offense to your precious Booker," Lauren said in her calmest, sweetest, down-homeiest voice. "But Karma, honey? If you think that's porn? Liam's not doing his job right, _at all_."

Reagan buried her face into Amy's neck, trying not to laugh. Amy bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her giggles, her teeth digging in so hard she thought she tasted blood.

"Liam has nothing to do with this," Karma said and Amy had to wonder if that was the first time those particular words had left Karma's mouth in the last year. "This," Karma rolled on, "is about _Amy. _The girl I know, the one I've known for _ten_ fucking _years_… she doesn't do things like this. Amy doesn't keep secrets from me, she doesn't make out in hallways."

"Apparently," Lauren said, "She does _both_."

"And that's why I'm here," Karma said. "Because Amy's not acting like _Amy_." Karma shrugged Lauren's hand off and planted her hands on her hips. "She's clearly not thinking straight. She's _clearly_ got something going on that she just doesn't know how to handle, she's obviously confused, she's -"

"_She's _right here in the fucking room," Amy said.

Karma turned to look at her, and Amy could see the blush of anger already starting to fade from her cheeks. This was the second time in two days that Amy had used that tone with Karma. The last time she'd told her to grow the fuck up.

Clearly, Karma hadn't gotten the message.

"Look, Karma," Amy said. "I'm sorr -" She cut herself off. _That_ word was not leaving her mouth. Not again. "I _understand_ if you think I'm acting a little...odd." Karma arched an eyebrow at 'odd', but Amy ignored her. "I get that you're pissed I didn't tell you about Reagan sooner. And that you're pissed about the video and the comments people left on it."

Amy slid off the couch, standing on the floor in front of Karma, but she never let go of Reagan's hand.

"I get all that," she said. "But this _is_ me. I know it's new for you, it is for me too." Amy did feel bad, a little. She'd had two months to adjust to things. Karma had less than two days. "I know you think you know me so well, and you do, but… I guess you've just never seen me in love."

Karma took - _staggered_ - a half step back and, for a moment, Amy thought she might bolt.

And for the first time ever, Amy knew she wouldn't chase her if she did.

"You've been in love before," Karma said softly, almost whispering it, and Amy knew that was _her_ Karma, worrying about what Reagan did and didn't know.

"Yeah," Amy said, nodding. "I have. But like I said… _you _never saw it."

Karma's eyes dropped to the floor and she let out a long breath. She fumbled with her hands, not quite sure what to do with herself.

The truth really did _hurt_.

"You're right, Karma," Amy said. The red-head's eyes snapped back up to her friend's face. "I don't know exactly how to handle this," she waved her free hand between herself, Karma, and Reagan. "This is new territory for all of us. I've never had a girlfriend _and_ a best friend."

Karma's eyes dropped again. _Girlfriend_. _Best Friend._

Two. Different. Things.

"But you have to understand something, Karma," Amy said. She dropped Reagan's hand and stepped closer to her best friend. She placed a finger under Karma's chin and tipped the girl's head up. "You have to understand something very, very clearly."

"What?" Karma asked.

"I'm _not _confused," Amy said. "Not about this. Not about _her_." She tilted her head back to indicate Reagan. "I'm in love with Reagan. And maybe that means things are different for us, for _all_ of us. And I wish that didn't upset you or hurt you or.. whatever." Amy took her hand from Karma's face and moved back, next to Reagan. "But I'm not going to apologize. Not for loving her. Not now. Not _ever_."

Karma stared at them, at the way they weren't even holding hands or anything but they were still so close, like they couldn't exist if there was even air between them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I never meant… I didn't want you to…" She shook her head. "Is this what it was like?" she asked. "For you, I mean. When Liam and I started hooking up?"

Amy sighed. Sometimes Karma just couldn't get it, not even when you spelled it out for her.

Amy stepped back to Karma, almost as close to her as she'd been to Reagan. _Almost_. "No," Amy said quietly. "This is what it was like for me the night my mother got married." Karma paled. "When I knew you'd made a choice."

The message was clear. Amy had made her choice. Karma had to live with it.

She pulled away from Karma, desperate to try and bring this thing to an end, at least for now. With Karma, she knew, there was no guarantee it would ever really be over.

"I'm going to go jump in the shower," Amy said. "And then my sister and I have some clothes shopping to do." She glanced back at Reagan. "You coming with us?"

Reagan shook her head. "No," she said. "I was actually… um…" Amy's face scrunched in confusion. She'd never seen her girlfriend so at a loss for words. "I was actually going to see if Karma wanted to go get coffee? Or something?"

Silence. And _not_ the comfortable kind.

"Wait," Lauren said finally, because she was apparently the only one in the room who could still speak. "_What_?"

"Coffee," Reagan said. "You know, that thing people do when they're trying to get to know each other without all the...um…" she gestured at Amy, "issues in the way?"

Amy smirked. "I'm an _issue_ now?"

Reagan shrugged. "I just figured it would be easier than trying to get to know each other at the party with all the music and the drinking and… well… the Shane."

Even Karma laughed.

"So, how about it, Karma? You, me, warm beverages?"

Karma looked at Amy, but her friend was staring straight ahead, stone faced, apparently unconcerned. Which Karma knew was total bullshit.

"Sure, I guess," she said. "We've gotta get to know each other some time, right?"

Amy's face cracked a little and Karma and Reagan both read it for what it was. Worry. Worry that she wouldn't be there. Worry that things would be out of her control.

Karma thought Amy was concerned about what _she _might say.

Reagan _knew_ Amy was worried about how _she_ might feel.

"It'll be fine, Shrimps," she said. "Karma and I are grown women, more or less. I think we can have coffee without incident." She turned back to Karma. "I need a quick shower. Did you want to wait or should I pick you up at your place?"

"My place," Karma said quickly, unnerved by both the thought of Amy and Reagan showering at the same time and by the thought of being left alone with Lauren. "Do you know how to get there?"

"Amy can give me directions," Reagan said. "Say half an hour?" Karma nodded. "Cool. I'm gonna go get clean." She headed up the stairs. "Oh," she said, turning back. "And Lolo? Make sure you get something to make my Shrimps look hot, OK?"

Lauren nodded as Reagan dashed off up the stairs. She looked back and forth between her sister and Karma. "I'm thirsty," she said suddenly. "And hungry. And _so _going to the kitchen."

She moved away, leaving Karma and Amy alone.

"I guess I'll see you tonight then?" Amy said.

Karma nodded. "Yeah, tonight," she said. She turned to go, then paused in the hallway. "Aimes?"

"Yeah?'

"Reagan seems nice."

And then she was gone. Amy stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, savoring that one peaceful moment when the two most important women in her life were OK with each other.

She knew it wouldn't last. But, for now, she knew she couldn't have planned it any better.


	11. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Sorry this took so long, holiday and all. This one's long (I didn't plan it that way), very Lauren-centric (cause let's face it, she's awesome), and does another flashback. And for those who have been asking in PM's - this is a Reamy fic. I know everybody's diving back onto the Karmy ship after the finale, but I'm sticking with Reagan in this. I just can't do the 'Karma realizes her feelings and Amy immediately dumps Reagan' thing. Hope y'all like it...**_

Lauren was eleven years old when she heard her mother's voice for the last time.

She was in a Dallas area hospital standing at her mother's bedside. Three days later, a week shy of Lauren's twelfth birthday, her mother Rebecca died.

Rebecca had been sick for some time, longer than Lauren's eleven year old mind could really process. For three - or was it _four_? - years, Lauren had seen the inside of every hospital from Dallas to Houston to Fort Worth. Her mother had called it the Great Cancer Tour. Told every new doctor, every new specialist, every new team of nurses that she'd always wanted to tour the state.

Inoperable brain tumors seemed a long way to go for some sightseeing.

The tumors eventually became not only inoperable, but unresponsive. They laughed at chemotherapy. They mocked radiation. They taunted the doctors and specialists and nurses by spreading, moving from brain to liver to lymph nodes to heart.

For three - or _was_ it four - years, the cancer refused to cooperate. And, in some sick final joke, it refused to just finish the fucking job. It made Rebecca weak, frail, slowly withering like a once proud rose bush after the first frost.

But it wouldn't kill her.

Lauren wanted her mother to live, wanted it more desperately than anything else she'd ever wanted in her young life. And every day that Rebecca held on, Lauren knew was another day she was supposed to be grateful for.

But even at eleven, she was smart enough to know that sometimes even the things we think we want can hurt like a bitch.

The last six months, the last six months of Lauren's eleventh year of life, had been a seemingly never ending cycle of admissions and discharges, of late night ER visits, of supposed -to-be-comforting smiles and reassuring hugs.

A never ending cycle of 'is this _it_?'

But it never was.

Lauren spent so much time at the hospital that Rebecca and Bruce eventually had no choice but to pull her from school. Not that Lauren noticed or cared. When she had been in class, her body had been there, sure, but her mind?

Fuck. Even Lauren wasn't entirely sure where her mind was.

Eventually, Rebecca was admitted full-time. No more discharges.

Well, Lauren thought, that's not _entirely_ true. There would be _one_ more discharge.

She got to the point where she knew all the nurses on her mother's floor. She knew which ones always had candy (Delia), which ones would take her for walks while Bruce and Rebecca met with the doctors (Sandy and Laine), and which ones would hold her hand while she cried (Rosie).

She also knew which ones would sugar coat it and which would rip the fucking band-aid off and tell her the whole ugly truth.

Lauren liked _those_ nurses better. They reminded her of her mother.

Rebecca wasn't one for glossing over anything. Not even for an eleven year old girl who already had more on her plate than most adults.

"I don't know what your daddy's told you," Rebecca said to Lauren one morning, as her daughter sat on the edge of the hospital bed. "But I imagine it's some bullshit about me being home soon and everything being just fine?"

Lauren nodded. Those were, in fact, the exact words Bruce had said to her the night before, as she was headed to bed.

_Mommy will be home soon. Everything's going to be just fine. Night, night, baby girl._

Even at eleven, Lauren knew when someone was blowing sunshine up her ass.

But she also knew when someone _needed_ to do it. Not for her. But for themselves.

"Laur, honey," Rebecca said. "I'm not coming home." She stared at her daughter with eyes that had once danced but now were tired and fading. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Lauren nodded again. She hadn't _known_, not until right that moment, but she'd had an idea. An idea she'd been content to let Bruce's sunshine cover up.

"Your daddy's a good man, Laur." Rebecca coughed and the force of it shook the bed under Lauren. "But sometimes, he's a fucking idiot."

Lauren smiled in spite of herself. She knew her mother didn't mean anything by it, and she knew just as well that Bruce himself would probably be the first to agree with his wife's assessment.

Not that he ever disagreed with Rebecca on much of anything.

Lauren often wondered how exactly her parents had ever found each other, much less actually gotten married and had a kid. Bruce was a down-home, redneck, right-wing Texas charmer who hated confrontation. Whenever he and Rebecca _did_ fight, which wasn't often, he insisted they go down to the basement so the neighbors wouldn't hear.

Rebecca? She was as blunt as a hammer, took no shit from anyone, and loved being a _part_ of the world, not just _in_ it.

They shouldn't have worked. Fuck working, they shouldn't have made it past their first date - a rodeo, Bruce's idea, of course - and they shouldn't have fallen in love.

But, somewhere between the first bucking bronco and the post-rodeo mint chocolate chip on a sugar cone, Bruce had fallen so hard, so fast, that he told his brother later that night that he'd met the woman he was going to marry.

Which was fine with Rebecca. After all, she'd told Bruce the same thing right before she kissed him so long and so hard - with a tongue Bruce thought should have been registered as a weapon - that he dropped his ice cream cone on the sidewalk.

Even at eleven, Lauren knew she would never be satisfied in life if she had anything less than what her parents had.

"He doesn't think you should be here, you know," Rebecca said to he daughter once the coughs passed. "He thinks it's too hard on you. He doesn't think anyone your age should have to go through this."

That didn't surprise Lauren much. Bruce had always wanted to shield her. The longest, and nastiest, fight he and Rebecca ever had been about that very subject. Rebecca wanted to tell Lauren she was Intersex.

"She's five," Bruce had argued. "She's too young."

"She needs to know," Rebecca had replied. "She needs to know who she is. She needs to know that's the only thing that matters. _Who_ she is. Not _what._"

Eventually, Bruce had let Rebecca have her way. He almost always did.

Rebecca reached out and took Lauren's hand in hers. Her skin was cold and Lauren could feel every bone beneath it, but she didn't flinch at the touch.

"Your father would do anything to protect you," Rebecca said. "He wants to keep you safe and never let anything or anyone hurt you." Her voice cracked with every word. "And sometimes," she said, "I think he really believes that's possible."

Lauren stared down at her mother's hand in hers. And she knew her father couldn't have been more wrong.

"You know we don't care about you being Intersex, Laur." Lauren's head snapped up. She didn't hear the word often, not even from her mother. "It's never mattered to us, not even a little. But you father… he thinks it will matter, to everyone else And he's probably right, it probably will matter. But it _shouldn't_."

Lauren had learned a while ago that _shouldn't _and _didn't _were often very different things.

Rebecca squeezed her daughter's hand as tightly as she could. "I need you to remember this, Lauren. _What_ you are means nothing. _Who _you are is _everything_."

She leaned forward as best she could, bringing her other hand up to cup her daughter's cheek. And Lauren wondered, not for the first time, if this would be the last time her mother ever touched her.

"You don't ever hide, Laur, you understand me?" Lauren could hear her mother - her heatlhy, vibrant, fuck 'em all mother - coming through. "You never hide. You never take shit from anyone. And you find those people who know that different doesn't mean less. The ones that know that you're _more. _Not because you're different, but because you're _you_."

Lauren nodded. She brought her hand to Rebecca's, cradling them both against her cheek.

"You find those people and you hold onto them. You love them and they will love you."

Rebecca smiled at her daughter one more time. One _last _time.

"And you never, _ever _hide."

* * *

><p>His name was Billy. He was Filipino - not that it mattered, but he was the first 'different' from her person Lauren had ever known - and his family moved to Dallas in time for Billy to start fifth grade.<p>

Lauren met him on the second day of school. And though they were never friends, never even anything close to it, she knew who he was. She saw him in the cafeteria or study hall or playing baseball during PE.

She knew him to say hi. To smile at him in the hall between classes. To let him help her when she dropped her books and he bent down to scoop up her math notebook.

She knew him when she returned to school after Rebecca's death.

While she'd been gone, her district had gone through some reorganization, restructuring, re-some-fucking-thing-or-other, and Lauren now found herself in a brand new school. Only six of her classmates - Billy included - had been shifted to the new school with her.

It was a fresh start, Bruce said. "Think of it as a chance," he said. "A chance for you to be whoever you want to be."

He said _who_. Lauren heard _what_.

Be _whatever _you want to be.

As if being an Intersex pre-teen about to hit puberty without a mother and having to start over at a brand new fucking school wasn't just _the_ ideal fucking thing to fucking be.

Lauren had clearly inherited her mother's flair for profanity.

She had also, apparently, inherited her mother's ability to realize things quickly. Because it took Lauren less that a day to learn the first, and most important lesson of her new school.

She _could _be whoever she wanted to be. But, really, _want_ had very little to do with it. It was all about _need_.

By the end of second period, Lauren had stopped thinking of it as 'school' and more like the _Hunger Games_ without the bloodshed. At least so far.

But, she figured, the day was still young.

Her old school, the one where she'd met Billy, hadn't been some liberal oasis of blue in a sea of red, but compared to this place, it might as well have been. In her old school, being different had been… well… it had been different.

Sure, even there, if your version of different meant smoking like half a pound of weed a week, or getting hammered and falling off of your roof while your friends videotaped you, or getting caught up in some hippie commune leftist cult, well then you were fair game.

It was still Texas, after all.

But different hadn't automatically equaled bad. It hadn't immediately translated into being ostracized or shunned.

But here? Lauren learned quickly that here, if you stood out?

You went down. Hard.

By the end of third period, she felt like she'd been sucked up into a low-budget remake of _Mean Girls_, except every girl - and quite a few of the guys - was Regina George, or trying to be, if only to survive. Because one slip meant that speeding bus was going to run you down in the street.

Lauren saw a pretty little blonde girl with flowers and turtles on her dress reduced to tears over a bad haircut. (Though, in fairness, the buzzed sides wouldn't be in fashion for another few years.)

Another girl, a petite brunette who Lauren was pretty sure could've slid under a classroom door with room to spare, ran from her fourth period math class when another girl said she was 'too fat to live.'

And then came the assembly. Then came Billy.

The entire student body filed into the gym for a special assembly. There were to be awards given out to some of the new students who hadn't , in the shuffle of changing schools, received their due recognition at the end of the last school year.

Billy was the fourth student to be called up. He won a special honorable mention certificate for his science project on the life cycle of spiders. As he'd made his way to the front of the gym, he'd spotted Lauren, someone he knew. He smiled.

Lauren looked at the floor.

She saw Billy again a few hours later, right after art class. He was walking across the quad area, with a teacher on one side and a woman - Lauren assumed she was his mother - on the other.

His eye was black, his lip was cut, his pants were torn.

That night, as Lauren sat on the end of her bed staring at the bottle of her pills on top of the dresser, she thought of Billy.

They'd beaten him up. Over a _certificate_ for a science project.

She stared at her pills. She was Intersex. To people around here?

She _was_ a science project.

Lauren saw it very clearly then. She had only two choices. She could blend in, disappear, do just enough to get by.

That way, she knew, led to fear. To spending every day living in terror that someone, anyone, would spot her, that she'd suddenly show up on _their_ radar. And once that happened, how long would it really take before someone found out what she was?

As she sat there on the bed, Lauren heard her mother's voice.

_What you are means nothing. Who you are is everything_.

Easy for _her _to say.

But Lauren knew. She knew her mother was right. What she was _didn't_ matter. Just as long as it stayed a secret.

And that was why she knew she had to take option number two. Because blending in wasn't good enough. Disappearing still meant she could be found.

And _that_ just wouldn't fucking do.

The next day, Lauren walked across campus with her head held high. She shot daggers at anyone that came near her. She mocked a teacher or two, verbally dressed down three girls over their 'slutastic' wardrobe choices.

And then she bumped into Biily.

"Hey, Lauren," he said. "It's nice to see you back. I'm sorry about your mom-"

She cut him off by slapping the books out of his hand. As he bent to pick them up, she sauntered by him, 'accidentally' grinding one heel into his hand, ignoring him when he yelled out.

She was being watched. And she watched them all back. The look in her eyes said only one thing.

_Fuck with me at your own peril._

Within a week, she'd become the queen. Within a month, she'd broken enough hearts and lives that no one gave going up against her even a second's thought.

She was blending in. She was disappearing.

She was hiding in plain sight.

And at night, when it got quiet? When her own breathing was the only sound she heard?

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hear her mother's voice anymore.

* * *

><p>The first time Lauren heard her mother's voice again, the first time in a <em>very<em> long time, was the morning after the wedding.

She thought it might have been because, for once, she was quiet. For the first time since Billy, there was silence around her. She'd avoided silence for as long as she could remember, actively done everything she could to never be alone, never quiet. She slept with her iPod on, she let Lisbeth ramble on for hours on end about shit no one - no one in their right mind, at least - cared one whit about.

Fuck, she'd dated Tommy just for his mindless prattle.

But, sometimes, silence was unavoidable. Sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, she still ended up alone, with just her thoughts.

But even then, for a very long time, she hadn't heard Rebecca.

Or, maybe, she just hadn't been listening.

That, Lauren knew, was far more likely. That, and it might have had something to do with the _other _thing she'd heard, the night before.

The sound of her sister's heart breaking. The sound of Karma devastating Amy in a way Lauren hadn't realized one person could do to another.

Or, maybe, it had something to do with her own onrush of guilt as she realized Amy hadn't been faking after all.

It was that guilt - that and an odd sudden protective urge that she refused to think about or analyze - that had led Lauren to try and help. She'd brought Amy cake. Yeah, she knew cake was a pointless gesture, Don Quixote flailing against the windmill of heartbreak. Cake wouldn't make Karma suddenly feel the same way. Cake couldn't make Karma see that Amy was everything Liam was not, in all the good ways.

Cake couldn't un-say those words.

_It's no big deal. Right now, you're just confused._

_Just not like that._

_I slept with Liam._

Hell, Lauren knew the cake was more for her than Amy. What did they always say? It's the thought that counts. Cake was Lauren's thought. A small gesture to maybe bring five minutes of happiness - OK, five minutes of _less_ massive suck - to Amy's life and to assuage a little bit of her own guilt.

And since she couldn't exercise that protective urge by kicking Karma's ass, no matter how tempting the thought was, cake would have to do.

They ate their cake together in relative quiet. The caterers cleaning up in the background. Their own thoughts about the evening loud enough in their own heads.

_Tommy's an asshole._

_Karma's a bitch_.

They were right on both counts, Lauren thought. And cake, as good as it was, didn't make Tommy less of an ass or Karma less of a bitch. So when Amy had finally staggered off with cake crumbs in her hair and half a bottle of champagne clutched in her hand, Lauren had let her go.

They could deal in the morning, she thought. What else could possibly happen tonight? There was, literally, nothing either of them could do to make this any worse.

Lauren eventually made it up to her room, hit play on her iPod, and fell asleep in her dress.

The next morning, _this_ morning, she woke to silence. She'd forgotten to plug the iPod charger in and the little gadget that had kept her sane for so many nights was just sitting there on the table next to her bed. Dead.

It was still too early for the sun. Too early for the birds, for Farrah,for her father, or for Amy.

And that was when she heard it, for the first time in a very long time.

_You don't ever hide. _

Twelve hours later, she stood in her garage, Tommy duct-taped to a chair, and she heard entirely different words

_Why would I tell anyone that my girlfriend's a dude?_

And suddenly, hiding wasn't an option anymore.

But that night, after Shane and the others had promised to not tell anyone, Lauren slid into her bed, clutching her iPod.

She left it off. Went to sleep in silence.

And didn't hear a thing.

* * *

><p>It was the drama club auditions. That was what did it. That was the moment.<p>

The moment when Lauren realized that she couldn't hate Karma.

How could she? They were too much alike.

She watched Karma settle into the chair on the stage. Watched as the redhead prepped for her dramatic moment.

Lauren rolled her eyes.

Here it comes, she thought. Some melodramatic bullshit about how hard it is for her. Some sad sack load of crap about her hippie-dippie parents, her broken lesbian love affair, her popularity washed away.

_Washed away in my sister's tears, bitch_.

Lauren never mentioned to Amy that she'd thought that. She barely even acknowledged it to herself.

Lauren wondered, briefly, if it would help her cause if she tore Karma a new one right then and there. If she called her out on all her bullshit, if she shredded her heart like she had done to Amy's.

She knew she could. Lauren was like America at the end of World War II. She had _the _bomb. The kind of bomb found in an empty box of morning after pills.

But she had promised Amy… but still…

But then Karma started to speak, except she wasn't rambling on about her parents or her brother, or her 'break up' with Amy.

She wasn't just speaking. She was _fucking confessing_.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Karma Ashcroft had just outed herself, and not in the good way.

And she wasn't done.

_I can be a really insecure person and I hate that part of who I am._

_Desperate for approval. 'Like me! Like me!'_

_Cause if you like me… then maybe I'll like myself._

Well. Shit.

Lauren had never wanted or expected to understand Karma or, quite frankly, to give a flying fuck about her as anything other than an appendage to her sister. Until that moment, Karma had been nothing more to Lauren than the lying, faking, so desperate to land the hottest guy in school that she'd fuck over her own best friend _bitch_ that Lauren had heard the night of the wedding.

Until that moment, when Karma had gone up there on that stage and laid herself bare, knowing full well the hate that was headed her way, not fearing the scorn or the condemnation that was going to land on her doorstep.

Well. Shit.

Lauren watched Karma come back to her seat. She expected there to be joy behind the other girl's eyes, the thrill of knowing that between that little performance and her singing (and where the hell had Ashcroft been hiding _that_ set of pipes?) she'd practically assured hersefl of the drama club spot.

But Lauren didn't see any of that. All she saw were the eyes of a young girl who couldn't quite process what she'd just done.

Eyes that looked all too familiar.

And then it was Lauren's turn. And there was 'Fuck you, I've struggled.'

And there was her mother's voice.

_You never hide_.

And then there was a crash and she turned. And saw Theo.

Lauren closed her eyes. And when she opened them, she saw Karma. And she saw strength and courage, the kind that might only last for a moment, but the kind that had been there nonetheless.

And she couldn't speak and she couldn't make the words come up and out of her throat and she couldn't find a way to do it, to say it.

And she couldn't hear her mother's voice.

_That_ was the moment. That was the moment when Lauren realized she _could_ hate Karma.

After all, they were _nothing_ alike.

* * *

><p>Lauren was the first of Amy's friends - and did they really qualify as that? - to meet Reagan, but it was by default, really. She lived with Amy, and since the blonde had been smart enough to schedule their first date for a night when Farrah and Bruce were out - and Amy was still upstairs <em>freaking the fuck out<em> - Lauren had to answer the door.

She stared at the girl on the other side of the door all flannel and tight jeans and funky hair.

And OK. she'd admit it. Amy had picked a hottie.

"You must be Reagan," she said.

"And you must be the spawn of Satan."

Lauren had to bite back a grin. _Bitch has balls_. "Please," she said. "Satan's _fears_ me." The 'and so will you' was left unsaid, but Lauren figured Reagan looked smart enough to pick up on subtext.

"Well, lucky for your sister, I don't scare easy." Reagan stepped through the door, sliding past Lauren. "Is she ready?"

Lauren rolled her eyes and shut the door. "Nope," she said. "She's upstairs having a little freak out. First date jitters you know." Lauren stepped around Reagan, and led her down the hallway to the living room. "And since this really is her _first_ she's probably…" She trailed off as she realized what she'd said. "I probably wasn't supposed to mention that."

Reagan arched one perfectly-on-point eyebrow. "That's OK," she said. "I've been lots of girls firsts."

Lauren glared at her.

"OK," Reagan shrugged. "Not _lots_." Lauren raised one not-quite-as-on-point-but-still-effective eyebrow. "OK," Reagan sighed. "Not any." She settled down onto the couch. "But don't tell Amy that," she said. "I need to maintain my aura of mystery."

Lauren bit back a laugh until the older girl grinned and she was sure Reagan was joking. "So…" Lauren said, dropping down onto the other end of the couch. "Amy says you're nineteen?" Reagan nodded. "So, what _exactly_ does a nineteen year old want with a sixteen year old sophomore?"

Reagan shrugged again, the purple tips of her hair sliding across the shoulders of her leather jacket. "Well," she said, "for one, she asked me out. And, as hard as this may be to believe, that doesn't happen all that often. And, for another…" She shrugged again. "Have you _seen_ Amy?"

Lauren rolled her eyes.

"I should probably check on her," Lauren said. She got up from the couch and headed for the stairs. She paused on the bottom step and glanced back at Reagan, who was jiggling one knee nervously and fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

_A hottie. And just as much of a dork as Amy. _

Her sister knew how to pick 'em.

Lauren bounded up the stairs and through Amy's door without so much as a knock. She found her sister pacing back and forth, though she was only actually moving two or three steps in either direction.

"Your date is here," Lauren said. Amy stopped mid-pace.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

Lauren plopped down on the bed and rolled her eyes, _again_. "I'm pretty sure even lesbians don't do that on the first date," she said. When Amy didn't crack a smile or even _look _ at her, Lauren sighed. "What's wrong?"

"There's a girl downstairs," Amy said. "A hot girl." She paused and then did look at Lauren. "Did she look hot?" she asked. "Tell me she didn't. Tell me she looked all busted and butch and scary."

Lauren shrugged. "If I swung that way, I'd have probably jumped her."

Amy's face paled and her jaw moved up and down, but no sound escaped.

"Sorry," Lauren said. "Forgot I was being supportive." She grinned at her flailing sister. "She looks horrible. Scary. Like she bought her clothes at the thrift shop and not the cool one from the Macklemore song."

Amy shook her head and sat down on the floor. "She could be down there in a fucking garbage bag and still be hot," she said. She ran a hand through her hair which, to Lauren's great annoyance, still looked fucking fantastic. "What the hell am I doing?" Amy asked softly.

"Well," Lauren said, "right now you're having a massive freak out while your hottie date waits downstairs." She slid off the bed and sat across from Amy. "What's really going on, Raudenfeld?"

"I'm going on a date." Amy said. "With a girl." The look on Lauren's face told Amy that her sister clearly didn't grasp the significance. "I'm gay," she whispered. "I'm a _lesbian_."

Lauren remembered, just in time, that she was trying to be supportive (though she really had no idea why) and held back a laugh. "I thought that fact was pretty well established," she said. "You know, with the whole in love with Karma thing. Or the being repulsed by sex with Booker thing. Or the making out with hot Brazilian chick thing."

Amy shook her head. "Karma was… different," she said. "That was just about _her_. And being repulsed by Liam, well, that would happen to _anyone _with taste, right?" Lauren nodded, she couldn't argue with that. "And the Brazilian girl… that was just making out. Hell, straight girls do that all the time now. It's like the cool thing. Like getting your ears pierced or listening to One Direction. It's _in_."

Lauren had both ears pierced, _twice_, had every One Direction CD - and the concert DVDs - and she'd never once had the urge to stick her tongue in another girl's mouth.

Maybe she just wasn't cool.

Nah, she figured, that _couldn't_ be it.

Amy was still rambling on. "A date is different," she said. "A date is like… a future, maybe. It's one step from a relationship and that's one step from commitment and that's one step from marriage and a family and spending your life with someone and now I'm doing all that with a _girl_."

"Maybe," Lauren said, "before you start picking out china patterns and knitting baby beanies, you should, you know, go on _a date_?"

Amy stared at her. Just stared.

Lauren sighed. "Look, Amy," she said. "I understand that you're nervous. Believe me, every time I meet a boy and it starts getting serious and I remember… what they don't know about me, I feel the same way." She scooted across the floor so she was right up in Amy's face. "But there's a girl downstairs who said 'yes' to you. To _you_. And if going out with her makes you a lesbian, well, there's worse things to be in this world, right?"

Amy nodded. Slowly.

Lauren fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "Someone very smart once told me that _what_ you are is nothing. All that matters is _who_ you are." She let out a deep breath. "And you are, somehow - and believe me, I did _not_ see this coming - one of the cooler people I've ever known." Amy's eyes widened. "And if you tell anyone I said that, I'll kill you."

There was a long moment when Amy sat there, silently staring at her and Lauren worried - briefly - that the girl had gone catatonic. But then… "You don't suck either," Amy said, quietly.

And they both laughed.

Amy stood up slowly, extending a hand to Lauren and helping the smaller blonde back to her feet. "I'm really doing this?"

Lauren gave Amy's hand - the one still clutched in her own, and how the hell had _that_ happened - a soft squeeze.

"Yeah," she said. "You are."

Amy nodded once and then headed for the door. She paused for a moment and then turned back toward Lauren, taking two quick steps across the room and sweeping her sister up in a hug.

Lauren went stiff, for a moment, then slowly relaxed, even wrapping one arm around Amy's back.

"Sorry," Amy said, breaking the embrace. "It just seemed…"

Lauren nodded. "It's fine," she said. "Just don't make a habit out of it." She put her hands on Amy's shoulders and turned her back to the door. "Now go," she said, giving her a gentle shove in the back. Amy headed out the door and down the stairs.

Later that night, after Amy had finally come home - two and a half hours _late_ - grinning from ear to ear, Lauren climbed into bed. She reached for her iPod, fingers ghosting over the controls.

And then she set it back down, pulled her blankets up under her chin and went to sleep, in silence.

* * *

><p>Somewhere between that first date and the morning Karma showed up in the living room like some masochistic voyeur, something had changed between Amy, Reagan, and Lauren.<p>

Lauren couldn't put her finger on it, she couldn't identify the moment when it had happened.

Probably because there was no _moment_. It wasn't like in the movies where the main character has a sudden epiphany and figures everything out. Life didn't work that way.

Live was slow. Gradual. Like the song said, Lauren figured. You can't hurry love.

No matter what kind of love it is.

For the first couple of weeks after that first date, Lauren paid little or no mind to Amy and Reagan. Yeah, sure, she liked the older girl. But that was to be expected. Reagan was pretty much the definition of likable. She was a charmer, she was funny, and she seemed genuinely interested in Amy.

Plus - and this was the biggest and best selling point to Lauren - she _wasn't_ Karma.

But, Lauren figured, odds were good Reagan wouldn't be around long. She was a rebound. She was a temporary fix, a needed life experience, a growth opportunity for Amy.

But she wasn't endgame. Karmy, Lauren knew, was Amy's OTP.

Of course, the key word in all that was _pairing_.

It takes two to tango, Lauren thought. And she'd seen Karma at the drama club auditions.

Bitch couldn't dance.

By the middle of the third week, Lauren noticed that Reagan was still around. More than that, she seemed to be settling in, like she wasn't leaving any time soon. And something else was different.

_Amy_ was different. She was… smiling? She seemed… happy?

Come to think of it, it had been at least fifteen days - eighteen? _nineteen_? - since Lauren had heard Amy crying at night.

_And_ come to think of it, it had been at least that long since Lauren had seen Karma around the house.

Near the end of that third week, Amy knocked on Lauren's door and actually waited for Lauren to say 'come in' before she barged through. So, among other things that Lauren preferred not to think about, Reagan was apparently teaching her manners.

Amy stood in the doorway, hemming and hawing and stumbling over her words until Lauren had finally had enough and told her to get to the fucking point already and then Amy rushed out _would-you-want-to-go-to-dinner-with-me-reagan-and-shane-tomorrow-night?_ so fast that Lauren thought the taller girl might black out.

Well of course she _wouldn't_. And the fact that Amy was even asking just proved that Reagan hadn't taught her enough yet.

And that would all have been true if Lauren's mouth, apparently on leave from its relationship with her brain, hadn't opened up and said 'yes'.

Her brain checked back in long enough to ask 'it'll be just us, right? No… ?' And somehow Amy had gotten the point - so _clearly _Reagan was clearing the Karmalized fog from her sister's brain - and Amy nodded quickly.

So, by the end of the third week, Lauren decided she really did like Reagan, and hoped she'd stick around. But what shocked her, what made her pause and wonder just what the _absolute fuck _was going on, was when she realized that not only did she like Reagan.

She liked _Amy_ too.

Liked her enough to chat with her on the way to school in Bruce's car. Enough to sit with her at lunch and go to the mall with her - only so Amy could go to the used bookstore tucked into the far corner of the far end of the shopping center where nobody else ever went - or flop on the couch and make fun of whatever doc-u-crap her sister was watching.

Enough to start referring to Amy as 'her sister'.

But only in her head of course. Never out loud.

_That _happened halfway through the fifth week. She said it out loud to Shane while yelling at him to stop asking Amy questions about Reagan's tongue and scissoring and every other dumbass lesbian fetish-related topic in his brain.

Amy had stopped dead. Paused with a forkful of mashed potatoes - and fuck all, that girl could _eat _- halfway to her mouth. She looked at Lauren for a brief moment, her head tilting sideways. Then she smiled, a little one, and shoved the potatoes in like she was afraid someone was going to steal them from her.

They never did speak of it. Other than the next morning, when Amy tried out a tentative 'sis' and both girls gagged a little before dissolving into giggles.

And now she was _giggling_ with Amy. And what the fuck was wrong with her? Lauren Cooper did _not_ giggle.

And then there was the shopping trip to Dallas, which meant one fucking long ride from Austin in Reagan's non-air-conditioned pickup, the one with the actual _tape deck_ and the one tape of Billy fucking Joel and who the _hell_ was Billy Joel?

When Lauren walked back into the house late that evening, humming _Uptown Girl_, Amy just laughed.

I told you, she said. That shit gets in your head.

That night, Lauren followed her normal nightly routine. She brushed her teeth, twice. She laid out her outfit for the next day, only changing the blouse twice, which showed remarkable restraint on her part. She brushed her hair - 100 strokes on each side - and then climbed into bed.

She fell asleep with _Uptown Girl _running through her head.

* * *

><p>The day Karma treated Amy and Reagan like her own personal peep show, Lauren heard her mother's voice, one more time.<p>

_And you find those people who know that different doesn't mean less._ Y_ou find those people and you hold onto them. You love them and they will love you._

She heard Karma leave, heard her tell Amy that Reagan seemed nice, and then Lauren slipped out the back door, scampered around the house, and found herself just a few feet in front of Karma, on the sidewalk.

The other girl had her head down, not watching where she was going, and Lauren had to clear her throat to get her attention. Karma's head snapped up and her eyes widened for a moment.

"Jesus, Lauren," she muttered. "I didn't even hear you. You're like Satan's fucking ninja."

Lauren made no move to get out of Karma's way. "Satan's afraid of me," she said, remembering when she'd said those words just a couple months ago. "And you should be, too."

She wasn't banking on Karma being able to pick up on subtext.

"Are you threatening me?" Karma asked. There was a little fear behind her eyes, but mostly anger. Which, given when she'd just gone through with Amy and Reagan was probably not surprising.

"I'm giving you some advice," Lauren said. "If you fuck this up for Amy… if you even _think_ about fucking this up for Amy… I will drop a bomb on your life so big, all the king's horses and all the king's men won't be able to put your shit together again."

"Sounds like a threat to me," Karma replied. "And Humpty-Dumpty? Really?"

Lauren shrugged. "You like fairy tales," she said. "I figured I'd speak to you on your level."

Karma glared at the blonde. "So, what? You think you're Amy's protector now?" She arched an eyebrow - a seriously not even close to on point eyebrow - "Or is this about Reagan? Maybe you've skipped a pill or two and decided you kinda like it on the other side of the fence?"

Lauren's glare faltered, only for a moment, but a moment was _enough_.

"Yeah, that's right," Karma said. There was anger in her tone, and though Lauren knew that wasn't about _her_, she also knew she was the closest target. "I remember your little secret, Lauren. So maybe you ought to be a little more careful about who you threaten."

Karma shoved past her, but only got a step or two before Lauren grabbed her by the wrist and spun her back around.

"You think I care, Ashcroft? You think I give one silly little fuck about what you know about _me_?"

Of course Karma thought that. _Lauren _ thought that.

"You can tell the world, for all I care, Karma," Lauren said. "You can take out an ad on the school Tumblr or have your boyfriend pay to have skywriters fly overhead. I don't care."

Her grip on Karma's wrist tightened and she pulled the redhead closer.

"You've done enough damage to my sister," she said. "So if you think, for one second, that I'm going to let you-"

"_Let_ me?" Karma asked. She yanked her wrist free and rubbed the spot where Lauren's fingers had dug into her skin. "_Sister?_ You and Amy get along for a couple of months and you're suddenly sisters? Where the hell were you for the fifteen years before that?"

"Better question," Lauren said. "Where were you the night you broke Amy's heart? Or where _would _you have been if Shane hadn't opened his mouth and wrecked all your little lies? Where would you have been while Amy was crying and trying to drown herself in bottle after bottle of champagne?"

Karma glared at her, but there was nothing to say.

"Maybe Amy and I don't have ten years of friendship," Lauren said. "But sometimes, Karma, all being that close with somebody does is make it easier for you to hurt them."

"What the fuck would you know?" Karma spat. "Have you ever had a best friend? Have you ever had _friends_?"

"You're right," Lauren replied. "I don't have friends. But I do have _family_."

Karma snorted. "You think a piece of paper that ties your father and Amy's mother together makes you and her family?"

Lauren shook her head. "No," she said. "I think our choices do. And my choice is to protect _my_ sister." She took one last look at Karma as she turned to go. "_You're_ the family _Amy's_ chosen, Karma," she said. "Try not to let her down again. Because if you do? You'll find out really quick that Satan's got nothing on me."

* * *

><p>Lauren slipped back into the house. She could hear Amy's voice upstairs, and the sound of the showers - <em>shower<em> - running and so,yeah, she was staying downstairs.

She leaned against the kitchen counter. It was quiet. She hadn't really appreciated quiet in a very long time.

And then she made a choice.

She tugged her phone out of her pocket and hit 'three' on her speed dial. "Hey, Theo?" she said when the boy finally picked up. "It's me. Yeah, I know I'm supposed to be shopping with Amy. But I need to talk to you. No, it's nothing bad, it's just… something I should have told you a while ago. Can we meet? Our spot? Half an hour?"

Theo agreed and Lauren hung up the phone. She dashed off a quick note to Amy.

_Have to meet Theo. Need to tell him about… you know what. I already got you an outfit for tonight. It's in the back of your closet, behind the trench coat. Tell Rea I hope her coffee with Karma goes well. Call you later._

_Love you,_

_Lolo_

Lauren paused and looked at the paper. _Love you_.

The pen hovered over the word. She could cross it off. She could throw the paper out and start over. Or text her.

Lauren sighed and dropped the paper on the counter where she knew Amy would find it.

Never hide, she thought.

Never _again. _


	12. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Thanks everyone for all the reviews and favs and follows! This one is all about Reagan, a little flashback to the night she came to get Amy for their first date and to her other two girlfriends. Next chapter, I promise, will be a two-fer: Amy and Reagan's first date AND coffee with Karma. **_

If there's one thing Reagan knows about herself, it's that she's badass.

Not that she feels it right now, mind you. Not sitting here in her truck in the Raudenfeld-Cooper driveway.

That's what she's been doing for the last five minutes. When she arrived - five minutes ago - she was fifteen minutes early for her first date with Amy. So, she waited. She didn't want to be too early, didn't want to seem too anxious.

Anxious isn't badass.

Sitting alone in her truck, knee jiggling at what feels like about 100mph beneath the steering wheel, fingers tapping out a morse code SOS on the gear shift?

Oh, yeah. That just _screams _badass.

Her hand leaves the gearshift and grabs the keys, still dangling from the ignition. She hasn't been spotted yet. She can still go.

She can still run. Or drive, you know, seeing as how she's _still_ in the truck.

_Start the car, Reagan. Start the car, throw it in reverse, and off we go._

It's not like she'd ever have to see Amy again. Standing her up wouldn't be _totally_ embarrassing. It's not like she'd have to face the blonde again the next day at school.

Seeing her again in the first place was just dumb luck. An accident of fate and timing and a DJ cart run amok.

Only one small problem. Reagan doesn't believe in luck. See, luck doesn't get you out of the house, or get you your own apartment, two jobs that can actually pay your bills, or give you crazy good DJ skills by the time you're nineteen.

Luck doesn't give you hot blondes with your same dorky sense of humor who actually seem, you know, _into you_.

_You can still go. It's not like you'll ever have to see her again. _

_So, yeah. Go._

But she knows that if she goes, she's going to have to do it while ignoring that pain in her heart, the sharp stick jabbing into her chest at the very thought of never seeing Amy again which, quite honestly scares the shit out of her.

She's terrified at the thought of never seeing Amy again. _And _ the fact that thinking about that hurts this much, this soon.

"I am fierce," she says. "I am badass."

She stares at the house and then drops her head to the steering wheel, banging her against it.

"And I'm talking to myself and totally fucking gone over a girl I've seen in person twice," she mutters into the wheel. "Two times. Two _fucking _times."

_Yeah. Badass. That's me._

Reagan lets go of the keys because, let's face it, she's not going anywhere (including, apparently, to the Raudenfeld-Cooper front door). She's thirty some odd feet away from Shrimp Girl - who sometimes also goes by Amy, you know - and she honestly can't think of anywhere she's wanted to be _this much_ in a very long time.

Which, again - in case you forgot - is what's scaring her. That's what's kept her in the truck for five - check that, _seven _- minutes.

Her phone buzzes in the cup holder and for a moment she thinks it's Amy. For the last seven days, it almost always _has_ _been _Amy. They've texted every day and night since the club, and they've actually _talked_ on the phone for something like twenty hours over the last week.

And, if she's this far gone after a few hundred text message and a few hours of phone calls?

Then, badass or not, Reagan knows - she's _fucked_.

She starts to reach for the keys again, but pauses, then makes a sharp turn for the cup holder and snatches up her phone instead. She ignores the text - probably something work related -and hits 'one' on her speed dial without looking, tapping the speaker button and waiting through the rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey, daddy," she says. "It's me."

* * *

><p>If there's one thing Reagan knows about herself, it's that she's badass.<p>

How could she not? For three years, it was drilled into her every morning.

"Repeat after me," her father would say. "I am fierce. I am badass. I am out, I am proud. I am a _motherfucking queen!"_

If they'd ever met, Reagan's father and Lauren's mother would have _loved_ each other.

The _motherfucking_ _mantra_, as Reagan came to call it (but only in her head) became their morning routine when she was fifteen, starting the day after she came out to her father.

Her father, Martin, would wake her up and, once she had shuffled angrily into the kitchen - because even fifteen year old Reagan was anything _but_ a morning person - she would sit at the table and he would begin.

"Repeat after me," he'd say, as he poured her cereal or made her eggs or buttered her toast.

And repeat she did. Every day for three years, until the day she moved out.

And the first week she lived in her own place? Martin called her on the phone every morning.

"Repeat after me," he'd say as soon as she'd answer.

It was _their_ time, and Reagan loved it. Her mother lived across town and Reagan saw her once a month, maybe. Her brother Glenn was overseas in the Marines and her father worked two - or more jobs - just to put food on the table. He worked long hours and spent more time out of the house than in it.

But he always made sure he was home for breakfast, always there to send her off to school.

The breakfast was, as a rule, horrible. The cereal was stale (neither of them ever remembered to go get a new box). The eggs were runny and the toast was always - _always _- burnt. Sometimes, there was OJ, but usually it was water out of the tap or a cup of coffee so strong Reagan wondered if she'd ever be able to sleep again.

But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he was there. He was _always_ there.

Even if only to remind her how badass she was.

* * *

><p>Reagan stares at Amy's house, her eyes boring so hard into the front door that she's almost a little surprised it doesn't suddenly explode.<p>

"So, what's her name?"

She chuckles, not in the least surprised that her father knows exactly why she's calling, but she doesn't give him the satisfaction of caving in immediately. "How do you know there's a 'her'?" she asks. "Maybe I just called because I miss you."

"Rea, it's a Friday night," Martin says. "And the only reason you wouldn't be catering some hoity-toity party or DJ'ing tonight is if there's a girl involved."

Reagan hadn't had a Friday night free of catering or DJ'ing in over a year.

So, yeah, maybe he's got a point.

"Amy," she says softly. "Her name's Amy,"

She can practically hear his smile over the line. "And I'm just guessing here, but you're supposed to be meeting her soon or picking her up and - again, just _guessing_ - you're freaking out a little bit?"

Reagan loves her father. But damn, sometimes he's too smart for his - or _her_ - own good.

"Why would I be freaking out?" she asks, hoping he doesn't notice the way her voice pitches just a little higher. "I've been on dates before. It's no biggie."

Dates. Right. She's been on dates. Four of them, if she remembered correctly.

One with Anna. Three with Shelby. And then it was all relationships and togetherness.

Until it wasn't.

"Let's see," Martin says and Reagan can see him rolling his eyes at her. "Wasn't your last date just about…" His voice trails off as she imagines him doing the mental math. "How long _were_ you with Shelby?"

One day too long, as it turned out.

"OK, you've made your point, old man," she says. "So, how about instead of making me feel bad for my recent lack of a social life, you help me out a little?"

Martin's laugh came across the line and for a moment, Reagan was back in their kitchen eating stale cereal or runny eggs or trying to find a piece of toast that wasn't burned past the point of having flavor.

"Alright," he said. "Repeat after me…"

* * *

><p>Reagan came out to her brother first, in a letter. It was easier that way and it felt like something of a practice run. Glenn was half a world away so it would take some time and that was good because, really, she needed a little time.<p>

It wasn't that she needed to get used to being gay, she'd adjusted to that. She'd known since was thirteen and, somehow, had just always been fine with it. There'd been no struggle, no self-loathing, no confusion.

She didn't need time for herself. Everybody else?

Yeah, she was gonna need a minute.

So, she'd picked Glenn as her guinea pig. She'd mailed him a letter, knowing that he would understand that she wanted him to _write_ back, not email or Facebook or Face Time. She wanted pen on paper. It was more personal.

And it would take longer.

It took about two weeks longer, to be exact. Two weeks for her letter and Glenn's response to make their ways across the oceans and deserts and back again. And, by the time Reagan had torn open the envelope with her name scrawled on it in Glenn's barely legible attempt at cursive handwriting, she had come to grips with someone else knowing the one thing she had ever kept a secret.

The letter inside was simple.

_Hey Short-Stuff. Glad everything's going well. Thanks for the letter. Send cookies next time. Miss you guys._

_Love, Glenn._

_P.S. You should call Anna Marquez, from down the street. She told me once at a party that she thought you were hot. She was probably drunk, but whatever._

_P.P.S. Try not to steal all the hot babes, OK. I'm not going to be gone forever._

Reagan had laughed herself silly reading and rereading the letter.

And she called Anna Marquez a week later.

* * *

><p>Reagan rolls her eyes and groans at the phone. "Seriously,dad? You think I haven't already tried the 'motherfucking mantra?" She leans her head back against her seat and shoves her free hand, the one not holding the phone, into the pocket of her leather jacket.<p>

It's easier to keep from grabbing the keys that way.

"I've said it a hundred times," she says. "And I'm _still _sitting her in my truck and trust me, I feel anything but fierce."

Martin was silent for a moment and Reagan thinks she might have dropped the call. But then… "You like this girl, don't you?"

Reagan shrugs, forgetting he couldn't see her. "I guess… I mean…" She sighs and taps the phone against her forehead in frustration. "Yes," she says. "I like her. I think I could… _really _like her."

"Why?"

Reagan stops and stares at the phone. Why? Why?

_Why?_

"I don't know," she says. "She's just… she's hot, like _really_ hot." It's the first thing to leap to her mind, but even as she says it, Reagan knows Amy's hotness is way down the list of why she likes her. "And she's funny. She's like this total dork, like me. The first time I met her, she ate like twenty shrimp off my platter at a party. And she's shy. It's like she has no idea how awesome she is."

_And yeah. She's fucking hot._

"So… if this Amy is all that," Martin says, "why are you still in the truck."

Reagan lets out a deep breath and stares up at the front door again. Amy's up there. Right behind that door. Sixty steps away.

"You know why," she says softly.

And he does know why. And so does Reagan.

* * *

><p>Anna was the training-wheels girlfriend, the first try at actually being with a girl. And Reagan knew, right from the first kiss.<p>

It would never last.

It wasn't that Anna wasn't great, because she was. And it wasn't that Reagan didn't like kissing her, because she did. A lot.

A lot a lot.

But there was something missing and they both knew it and they were both fine with it. Anna really did like Reagan and just hanging out with her (and the kissing and the other...stuff… didn't exactly suck) and Reagan got a little bit of a thrill out of dating an older girl - Anna was all of sixteen and a half - and she really liked having someone she could talk to, someone who had already navigated the potential messes of coming out.

Which is why, when Anna told Reagan that she just _knew_ her dad was going to be OK with it, Reagan listened. Though, to be honest, she'd never once thought her father would have any real problem with. Not with her sexuality.

But everything that came with it? Like, the rest of the idiotic homophobic world? The rest of _Texas_?

That might worry Martin.

Her father wanted nothing more than for his children to be happy, healthy, and safe. Before Reagan came out and the 'motherfucking mantra' became a morning staple, breakfast had always been accompanied by CNN on the thirteen-inch color TV in the kitchen. And Martin would stop talking every time a report on the war came on the screen.

Reagan didn't get it at first. It wasn't like Glenn was going to be on the news, like he was at a football game with his face painted up and holding a John 3:15 sign in the stands. And if something had happened to him, if it turned out that he was going to be gone forever….

That would be a ringing doorbell. That would be men in perfect pristine uniforms.

And if Reagan knew that, then certainly Martin knew that. But he watched anyway, cutting off conversation in the middle of a sentence if he heard 'war' or 'Iraq' or 'Afghanistan'.

"I know we won't see him," he said one morning. "I know we don't even know where he is, exactly. But…" He shrugged and sipped at his coffee. "But… it's all I can do."

It was a week later when Martin walked into the kitchen one morning and found Reagan and Anna sitting at the table, waiting. He was more surprised that Reagan was up first than he was at Anna's presence - because, come on, he wasn't _that_ oblivious - and he sat down without turning on the TV.

It took Reagan five minutes. Five minutes of rambling and metaphors about the heart and spirits and unconditional love and so much touchy-feely bullshit that, finally, even she couldn't listen anymore and she just blurted it out.

"I'm gay" she said. "Anna's my girlfriend. I like girls. Like, a lot."

Martin looked at her, then at Anna, then back to her.

"OK," he said. He stood up, crossed the kitchen, flipped on the TV and turned on the burner on the stove. "I'm making eggs," he said. "Anna, would you like some? Or maybe some toast?"

* * *

><p>"Rea?"<p>

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?" After a beat, Martin takes her silence as agreement. "Rea, honey, this Amy… she's not Shelby."

Reagan squeezes her eyes shut and counts to five.

"I know," she says. "But… at the beginning? Shelby _wasn't _Shelby either."

* * *

><p>If Anna was the training-wheels girlfriend, then dating Shelby was like taking off the training wheels and hopping on a Harley the next day.<p>

And Reagan quickly discovered she liked to ride. A lot.

But, the trouble with riding, she discovered, is that sometimes you crash.

Hard.

And, after one year, four months, two weeks, and six days, Reagan had thought she was safe. No need for a helmet.

Not that it would've helped anyway.

"How long?" she asked. "How long has it been going on?"

Shelby had just shrugged, mumbled something about eight months. Maybe nine.

"If I hadn't walked in… if I hadn't found you and _him… _would you have ever told me?" Then she shook her head. "No, I don't want to know." She stood up from the bed, suddenly conscious of where she was sitting and what she'd just seen on it and she just couldn't be there anymore.

Reagan paced across the room, found herself staring out the window. "Did I… did you…" She didn't even know how to ask, wasn't even sure what she wanted to know. "Was I always just a way to make him jealous?"

And Shelby had shrugged - again - and Reagan hadn't wanted to just rip her fucking arms off so maybe she'd have to answer. But then she'd said it - no, not at first, but then it _did_ make him jealous and then they started up again and before she knew it, it had been going on so long that she just couldn't find a way to tell Reagan and really, she did care about her and never wanted to hurt her…

Reagan was grateful Shelby had never _wanted_ to hurt her. If she'd _wanted_ to, it probably would've killed her.

"So, what, for the last eight months… sorry, maybe _nine_… you've been with me out of what? Obligation?" She glance back at the bed. The bed she and Shelby had…. and, oh, God… it was all so clear.

"He got off on it," she said. "You'd fuck me and then tell him and …"

She thought she might be sick. And when Shelby didn't disagree, when she didn't say so much as a _fucking word_, Reagan knew it was true.

"What was I to you?" she asked. "Did I mean _anything_?"

Yes. Of course. Shelby wasn't a monster. She hadn't been sleeping with Reagan and cuddling with Reagan and holding Reagan and saying 'I love you' to Reagan _just_ to give her boyfriend a little homemade Viagra.

But, in the end, she just wasn't gay.

She'd thought, maybe, at first. But she grew out of it.

It was just a phase.

* * *

><p>Reagan reaches for the keys one more time. She can't do it. She can't risk it. Not for Amy. Not for anybody.<p>

"Rea?" Martin's voice is soft and warm and Reagan wishes he was here, right now. "I know it's hard, Reagan. I know it seems like it's just too much."

Her hand catches the key, her foot presses down on the brake.

"But baby, sooner or later, you're going to have to try again."

Later. Later sounds very good.

"And someday, maybe even tonight, you're going to find the girl who falls just as hard for you as you do for her." Martin knows his daughter. He knows how close she is to running. And he knows, if she runs this time?

She might never stop.

"I can't…." She's barely whispering. "I can't go through that again."

"Rea, I don't know this Amy girl. But I knew Shelby." Reagan hears the anger that still rolls through her father's voice every time he says her name. "Rea, she was a bitch from the word 'go'. I knew it. Your brother knew it. Hell, _you_ knew it."

Yeah. She did. But Shelby was beautiful. And sexy. And into _her_, or so she thought. And that was enough.

Right up until it wasn't.

"Think about this Amy girl for a second, Rea." Martin says. "What's the first thing that comes to mind?"

_There are no… boyfriends… around me… right now…._

Reagan smiles. Amy had been so beautiful in that dress, so clearly _not_ one of those people, and even though she'd basically gone insane at the party, it had been days before Reagan had gotten Shrimp Girl out of her mind.

Mostly out of her mind. Sort of.

"The first time I met her," she says. "And she walked away and I didn't know if I would ever see her again and all I could think… I didn't think about kissing her or being _with_ her or anything like that…"

"What did you think of?" Martin asks.

"That I didn't get to _know_ her." Reagan says. Her foot eases off the brake. "I didn't get to talk to her or find out what she likes to do or if she's into bowling or if she really loves shrimp or just free food in general." Her hand slips off the keys. "I didn't even know her name..."

"Rea?"

Reagan smiles and laughs, just a little. I'm fierce, she thinks. I'm badass.

She pulls the keys from the ignition, swings open the door, and steps out of the truck. "I gotta go, dad," she says. "I'll call you later."

She hits 'end' before Martin can say anything.

_I'm fierce._

She starts up the driveway.

_I'm badass. _

She tucks her phone in her pocket and straightens her jacket.

_I am out. I am proud. _

She reaches the front door and, pauses, a finger over the bell, and then she's pressing down on it, and waiting. She's not running. She's not running. She's not.

Though if somebody doesn't hurry up and open the fucking door…

And then, as if on command, it swings open, a petite blonde stands in the doorway, staring art her with judgemental eyes.

"You must be Reagan," Lauren says.

Reagan smiles. _I am a motherfucking queen._

"And you must be the spawn of Satan."

_._


	13. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Sorry this took so long. It went places I didn't expect. As promised: Reamy first date / Reagan + Karma coffee. It's a bit on the long side and half fluff and half angst so...Enjoy!**_

Amy doesn't think of herself as having led some sort of freakishly sheltered life.

Hell, she just spent weeks pretending to be a lesbian, came out on local TV, was named Homecoming Queen, and nearly had a threesome.

Sheltered probably wouldn't be altogether accurate.

But, beyond those recent… exceptions… there's still a lengthy list of things Amy's never done.

She's never bungee jumped. And, contrary to what she's told Karma, she really doesn't want to. Diving off a perfectly good bridge and trusting her life to something called a 'bungee'?

Thanks, but she's good.

Now, if maybe she could talk Liam into it…

She's never run with the bulls. And, if she wasn't crazy about the bungee jumping, then being chased down curvy cobblestone hills by pissed off goring machines is even lower on her list.

But, again, there's Liam…

Amy has never cheated on a test, though her Biology class is threatening to end that streak. She's never driven her mom's car without permission, though Karma has. She's never shoplifted, gotten a speeding ticket, kissed someone who knew she wanted to, or spray-painted a highway overpass.

She's never been on a date.

Until tonight.

Well…. wait… that's not _exactly_ true. She's been on _one_ date.

With Karma.

It was their two-week anniversary - their _fake_ two-week anniversary - and it was their first and last date. Karma had insisted on the entire thing, on going out, on planning everything, on picking up the check.

"It's all for you," she said.

It's the least I can do, she said. It's the least I can do for my best friend who's so committed to helping me that she outed herself to her own mother.

Amy had nodded and smiled - and when you're friends with Karma Ashcroft, you do that _a lot_ - and thought that if Karma _really_ wanted to do something for her, the _very least_ she could do was shut the fuck up about Liam fucking Booker. If not all the time, then at least during their anniversary dinner.

And when she caught herself actually using the word 'anniversary', Amy had realized, yet again, how truly fucked she really was.

To her credit, though, Karma had gone all out. Reservations at a nice (peanut-free) restaurant. A new dress that showed just enough leg and _more_ than enough cleavage to make Amy glad she'd agreed to the stupid date in the first place. She made sure Amy wore something appropriate, all the while ignoring Amy's protests that any place where a doughnut shirt and bacon sweats was 'inappropriate' was not the kind of establishment they should be frequenting.

There were flowers on the table, shrimp on Amy's plate (and, months later, oh the irony), and a slow, hand-in-hand walk home in the moonlight.

And when paparazzi style pictures of their 'date' showed up on the Hester Tumblr the next morning? Karma was appropriately shocked and outraged.

How dare they, she cried. Invading our privacy that way. What levels of snooping did they have to do to even _find_ us?

Amy might have bought it if Karma could have wiped the shit-eating grin off her face even once during her protests.

Actually, Amy still wouldn't have bought it. She knew Karma too well.

So, if she doesn't count that one night - and she _really_ doesn't - then this is her first date.

And, to Amy, dating might as well be Calculus being taught by Greeks speaking Latin.

So far, and it's been fifteen minutes _tops,_ she's avoided doing anything… well… anything _Amy_. She made it through walking down the stairs without tripping (though there was a slight moment of foot-stuck-in-carpet but nobody saw that. She _thinks_.). She made it through shooing Lauren upstairs before she said anything (else) embarrassing, through telling Reagan how beautiful she looks without (obviously) drooling, and even though smiling without blushing when Reagan returned the compliment.

And that took all of three minutes.

Hell, that was three more than she thought she'd last, so…

As she had followed Reagan out to her truck, Amy had focused on her feet, making dure every step was true. The last thing she needed was to face plant on her own driveway.

Plus, staring at her own feet kept her eyes off Reagan's ass. Which, Amy had quickly discovered, was a lot harder to do than she had expected.

She suddenly found herself feeling a little kinship with Liam.

Amy had slid into the passenger seat which, given the outer appearance of the truck, was shockingly comfortable. Reagan had crossed around the truck and climbed in behind the wheel. She turned to Amy and offered a smile, a far less polite and far more real, grin than she'd had back in the living room.

"Hey, Shrimp Girl," Reagan said softly, as if she hadn't said hello before. Not _properly_. "I'm really glad we're doing this."

And that, seven minutes into her first ever date, was when Amy knew.

This was _way _better than any two-week anniversary.

* * *

><p>Molly Ashcroft has no idea how to handle this.<p>

To be honest, she hasn't had any idea how to handle much of anything since Karma came out - again - as straight.

Which really shouldn't be surprising. How many parents would know what to do? There's no guidebook, no rules, no directions for what you do when your daughter fakes being a lesbian, breaks her best friend's heart, and then starts dating a boy you're pretty sure has the values of an alley cat.

But that - _all_ of that - is nothing, is easy, is an absolute cake walk compared to this.

"Hi," says the beautiful girl with the partially purple hair standing on Molly's front step. "Is Karma here?"

Molly doesn't need tea leaves to know how this is going to go.

After all, she's known Karma her whole life. Tea leaves or not, Molly can see this train wreck coming a mile away.

"Oh," she says, mostly because she doesn't know what else to say and the sight of this girl - this girl she found out existed all of fifteen minutes ago - has her somewhat dumbstruck. "I mean, yes, please come in. You must be Ripley. Karma said you were coming."

"It's Reagan, actually," the young girl says as she steps through the door.

"Of course," Molly says. "I'm so sorry. I'm horrible with names. That's why we named Karma and Zen, Karma and Zen. So much easier to remember."

Molly finally finds her bearings again and settles into hostess mode, something she knows how to do, something that won't require her to think. She guides Reagan to the kitchen table.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asks, shuffling nervously between the table and the refrigerator. She needs something to do, something normal.

Because what's abnormal about welcoming in your daughter's fake ex-girlfriend's new girlfriend?

"How about some water?" she asks. "A smoothie? I think we have a few CherryMerryCherry ones left…?"

"Water will be fine, thank you," Reagan says. She takes a quick glance around the kitchen, mentally cataloging the few warnings Amy gave her.

Don't drink the smoothies.

Don't mind the smell. It's probably just the brownies.

Don't, under _any_ circumstances, eat the brownies.

Molly hands Reagan a bottle of water and sits down at the table with her. "So," she says, smiling broadly - maybe a little _too _broadly - as the young girl takes a sip. "You're a lesbian?"

Reagan has to bring a hand to her mouth to avoid spit-taking all over Karma's mother.

"Um…" she says, swallowing down the water. "Yes," she says, though even to her it comes out sounding almost like a question.

"Oh, don't worry," Molly says. "No judgments here. This is a safe place." She pats Reagan's hand on the table. "After Karma and Amy came out, I joined PFLAG. I'm totally supportive," she says.

"Well… that's… great," Reagan says. And where the _fuck_ is Karma, she wonders. "I wish all parents could be as supportive as you."

Molly smiles, pleased that an _actual_ lesbian - and God, how weird is it that she has to make that distinction? - appreciates her efforts.

"Were your parents not OK with your sexuality?"

Molly is much like her daughter. No concept of boundaries.

Reagan smiles, weakly, glancing around quickly, praying for Karma, which only makes this even more surreal than it already was. "My dad was," she says. "My mom and I don't really… talk… much. But that was the way it was before I came out so…"

Molly nods, understandingly. "Mothers and daughters can have tricky relationships," she says. "I remember when Amy and Karma came out, Farrah didn't handle it so well."

Reagan nods. She remembers Amy telling her about homecoming. "I'm sure that was just the shock," she says. "Farrah's much better now."

She's not sure why she feels the need to defend Farrah. Or why she feels slightly put out at the way Molly subtly rolls her eyes when Reagan does.

"Actually," Reagan says. "Farrah's been the closest thing I've had to a mom in a long time." She's never said that out loud, not even to Amy. "I didn't really know how much I missed that until I had it again."

Molly's eyes soften. She's known Farrah a long time, and while she's never doubted how much the other woman loves Amy, she might have let Farrah's aversion to Karma cloud her judgment.

"I was surprised when Karma said Amy had a girlfriend," Molly says. "I didn't know…" She pauses, not sure how to phrase what she's trying to say. "I knew Karma had faked it, and I knew she said Amy wasn't, but…"

"But you thought maybe Amy was only a lesbian for Karma?"

Molly blushed a little. "It had crossed my mind," she said. "But I mean, obviously, since you two are…"

"Yeah," Reagan said. "I guess I'm the official proof," she smiled at Molly. "Trust me," she says. "Amy is 100% gay, which is great for me, right?"

Oh for fuck's sake, she thinks. 100% gay? Really?

"And you love her," Molly says softly. "I can see it."

Reagan remembers some of the stories Amy's told her about the Ashcrofts. "Is it in my aura?" she asks.

Molly shakes her head. "No," she says. "Your _eyes_. They light up every time you say her name." Molly smiles at the younger girl and fidgets with her hands on the table, the same gesture Karma made earlier. "I'm glad Amy's found someone. I know she took… things… hard."

_You mean your daughter ripping her heart out _floats through Reagan's mind before she can stop it. "I'm sure it wasn't easy on Karma either," she says. "Amy's told me a lot about her and I know she would never hurt Amy intentionally."

Molly nods. "No," she says. "But you can't always help who you love," she says. "Or who you don't."

"You ready?" Karma asks as she walks into the kitchen. She doesn't look at Reagan or her mother, instead she leans against the fridge with her hands stuffed in her pockets and her eyes focused on some point far out the kitchen window.

"Yeah," says Reagan. "Thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. Ashcroft," she says. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around." She stands up and waits for Karma to lead her out the door.

Molly stays sitting at the table. She's got no idea how to handle this, but she knows it isn't going to go well. She may have been surprised by Karma coming out as a lesbian and totally gobsmacked by her coming back out as straight, but she knows her daughter.

And she knows that when it comes to Amy, Karma doesn't play nicely with others.

Molly just hopes that, for once, the daughter she knows and loves - the one that would do anything to make Amy happy - shows up.

"Good luck, Reagan," Molly says under her breath.

You're going to need it.

* * *

><p>They're halfway to where ever the hell they're going (and since Amy has no idea where that is, she can't really be sure it's halfway) when there's a lull in the conversation. And silence plus Amy plus a new situation?<p>

That can't equal anything good.

She lasts all of a minute, maybe two, before she starts desperately searching for some way to break the silence. Something to talk about. Anything.

The weather? They live in Texas. It's dry and hot.

Movies? She and Reagan had gone back and forth about movies for two or three night's worth of texts. Reagan didn't understand Amy's love for documentaries or how she had never seen _The Princess Bride_.

Karma?

Let's be real here.

Amy feels her mouth opening and closing, but hears nothing, so she _knows_ she isn't talking, which is worse, really, because sitting there flapping your jaw like some big mouth bass has got to rank oh, so high on the 'this girl is a psycho' scale.

And then, without warning, Reagan reaches a hand over, rests it on Amy's thigh, and gives a gentle squeeze.

"It's OK, Shrimps," she says, and Amy immediately likes this shorter version of her nickname (and that has _nothing_ to do with the feel of Reagan's hand on her thigh or the momentary short circuiting of her brain that feeling causes). "Just because we don't talk for a minute doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to get bored with you and shove you out of the truck,"

Amy laughs, her entire body relaxing - except for that thigh, where Reagan's hand still sits - and she shakes her head. "Am I that obvious?"

"Well," Reagan says. "It was either that or you were chewing the world's biggest piece of gum." She gives Amy another soft squeeze then returns her hand to the wheel.

And Amy does her best to not miss the contact.

Though, if she's honest, her best isn't near good enough.

"Sorry," she says. "I guess I'm a little out of practice with this whole dating thing."

Reagan steers the car around a corner and Amy realizes they're in a part of town she's never seen. "When _was_ your last date?" Reagan asks.

"Ummm… never?" Amy is glad the sun is setting, casting pinks and oranges through the windshield, so maybe her blush won't be quite so visible.

"No shit?" Reagan asks, and Amy is genuinely thrilled - and slightly surprised - at the lack of judgment in her tone. The fact that Reagan is older and, Amy assumes, more experienced has been one of the most nerve-wracking parts of this whole experience.

"So, _no_ dates, at all?" Reagan continues. She slows at a crosswalk, waving a young woman and her daughter across. "Not even a night out with a boy, him trying desperately to get in your pants, you trying desperately to feel _something_, just so you could be 'normal'?" She pulls her hands from the wheel to mimic the air-quotes around 'normal'.

"I did _kiss_ a boy once," Amy confesses, meaning Oliver because she's so not thinking - or counting - either ill-fated encounter with Liam. "He was sweet and made these cute little paper cranes."

Reagan laughs, and though Amy's heard it before, both the first night at the rave and a few times over the phone, she still marvels at the way the older girl's laugh sounds so… alive. Like it come rolling up through her body, from her toes, building a head of steam until it comes barreling out.

"So, paper cranes but no sparks?"

Amy shakes her head. "I _wanted _ sparks," she says honestly. "It would have made… a lot of things much easier." She wonders, for just a moment, how much simpler everything would have been if she could have just fallen for Oliver. "But it was all just wet lips and too much teeth and the poor boy, he was more nervous than I was. He was shaking so bad, it felt like kissing an earthquake."

Reagan slows to a stop at a red light and tosses a quick glance in Amy's direction. "I bet lots of people feel like the world's shaking when they kiss you."

And Amy's sure _this _blush can be seen even in the dusky light. Probably from outer fucking space.

Reagan turns away, looking at the light. "Sorry," she mumbles. "It's been a while since I've been on a first date," she admits. "I'm a little out of practice, so that was probably a bit too forward." She fidgets in her seat and sighs, clearly uncomfortable.

And that _shouldn't _make Amy happy. But it does. Just a little.

It reminds her that she's not alone.

And in a moment, one of several she will never forget from this night, Amy finds her voice.

"Maybe I like forward," she says.

Reagan's head snaps around, one perfect eyebrow arched practically off her head. "_Really_?" she asks, the challenge and intrigue rippling through her husky voice.

Amy shrugs, aiming for nonchalant but landing somewhere closer to 'yeah, I'm gonna keep _trying_ to be smooth'. "Maybe," she says. And then, as Reagan takes her foot off the brake and steers the car through the green light, Amy finishes the thought.

"Or maybe I just like _you_."

* * *

><p>The first thing Karma notices as she climbs inside of Reagan's truck is that it smells vaguely like Amy. That, she figures, is probably because Amy spends so much time in it<p>

Or, maybe, Reagan's one of those crazy chicks from the documentaries Amy always wanted to watch. Maybe she's some kind of obsessive nut job who buys all the perfumes and lotions her girlfriend uses and spreads them all around.

_It puts the lotion on its skin_ runs through her mind and Karma, briefly, considers the possibility that Reagan's just luring Amy in and eventually she's going to cut her up and harvest her organs.

Stranger things have happened, she thinks.

Like Amy being a lesbian.

As Reagan backs out of the Ashcroft driveway - without even looking, Karma notes, the girl's a fucking _menace_ - the redhead takes a quick survey of her surroundings.

And she realizes that she and Reagan may, _technically_, be alone.

But it's like Amy's right there with them.

There's an empty Starbucks cup in the cup holder. 'Hot Chocolate' noted on the side, right above the name 'Amy'.

There's a hairbrush with few blonde strands on it and a copy of _Old Man and the Sea_, the novel they're reading in English class on the seat.

Two ticket stubs from a recent showing of _The Hunger Games_ sequel are tucked into the passenger side sun visor.

Karma remembers Amy mentioning she'd already seen it. Karma thought she'd said she went with Shane.

There's a small picture taped to the dashboard, right above the - seriously? - tape deck.

Amy and Reagan, on the swing in Shane's backyard.

_It's official. She 'asked'. I said yes._

_Reamy is a thing_.

Why, Karma wonders, didn't she suggest they walk?

Karma tries, so very hard, to find something in the car that doesn't stand up and scream 'Amy Raudenfeld' at the top of its lungs. She settles on a little figure, like one of those hula dancers that shake their hips as the car drives, attached to the dash.

This one's a little dark-haired girl with headphones - a DJ, Karma figures - and its head bobbles in time as the truck bumps down the road.

"Cute," Karma says, tapping the little DJ on the head.

Not that she's fantasizing about doing that to _anyone_ else. Not. At. All.

"Farrah got that for me," Reagan says. "She found it at some weird store in Houston when she was there at a conference for the TV station. She said it reminded her of me."

Karma wonders, for just a moment, what might remind Farrah of _her._

She decides, quite quickly, that she's better off not knowing.

"So," Karma says, since apparently the conversational seal has been broken. "I heard you and my mom talking." She watches as the little DJ's head nods and nods and nods. "Amy told you about… _us_?"

Karma _doesn't_ wonder, not even for just a moment, about why she doesn't say something else. Why she didn't say 'Amy told you we faked it' or 'Amy told you about our little lesbian adventure' or, pretty much anything other than '_us_'.

Reagan nods and, if she's bothered by Karma's word choice, she doesn't show it. "She told me you two faked being a couple to become popular," she says. "She realized she really is gay, was in love with you, you rejected her, you ended up with Liam, and you and Amy ended up just friends."

It's odd, Karma thinks, having something - the biggest _fucking something_ - ever in your life boiled down to the blurb on the back of a DVD case.

"Yeah," she says. "That would about cover it. I'm just… surprised she told you. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd advertize to a potential girlfriend. Hey, look at me, I was a fake lesbian! But I'm for real now, I swear!"

Reagan glances at her for a moment, and Karma's pretty sure she struck a nerve.

Either that or Reagan glares at everyone like they just shot her dog.

"I guess it's a good thing we were already together when she told me," Reagan says. "Not that it mattered. We've all got some crazy shit in our pasts, right?" She turns the truck down a side street towards the small coffee shop just at the outskirts of Karma's neighborhood.

"Besides," Reagan continues. "All that faking it stuff didn't really matter . There was only one thing I needed to know."

Karma takes the bait. "And that was?"

"If Amy was still in love with you," Reagan says. She pauses the truck at a stop sign and turns to look Karma in the eyes. "And, for the record?"

Karma stares right back. As if she's going to blink, like that would ever happen.

"She's not," Reagan says, a slight smirk crossing her lips, a definite fire raging behind her eyes.

Karma blinks.

* * *

><p>Amy's not entirely sure when it hits her, but when it does, she can't believe that it took her so long to notice.<p>

Being with Reagan is just about the polar opposite of being with Karma.

And, much to Amy's surprise, she's already thinking of that as a good thing. A _very_ good thing.

Sure, she's basing this on all of half an hour and a few phone calls, but the differences are so stark, so stunningly clear, that Amy is quite sure it wouldn't be any more obvious a day or a week or a month from now.

Some of it, she knows, is the lack of familiarity. With Karma, Amy could predict every moment, every word, every action and reaction. That was how she _knew_ -no matter what Shane said and no matter how much her lovestruck heart tried to convince her differently - that Karma never felt anything for her beyond friendship.

And, as comforting as that familiarity was, Amy's quickly discovering that the spontaneity and newness of everything with Reagan might not be so comfortable, but it's a lot more… _alive._

She's not sure there will ever come a moment when something about Reagan or something she does or even just the way the older girl looks at her won't surprise her.

Moments like right now.

They're just making idle conversation and Amy can't remember the last time she laughed so much. She's tried and tried to get Reagan to tell her where they're going, but the sexy DJ just shakes her head and smiles.

"Trust me," she says. And, for some reason, Amy _does_.

"So," Amy says, still not entirely comfortable with the conversational lulls (that's the _one_ plus she can think of for the familiarity of Karma), "tape deck?" she asks, pointing at the slot in the dash where Reagan's stereo should sit. "I figured super cool DJ girl would have some fancy high-end six disc changer or something."

Reagan laughs again and Amy tries to ignore the way that sound keeps making an ever increasing warmth rush through her body. "Well," she says, "when super cool DJ girl gets a super cool job that pays a little more super cool money than cater-waitering, maybe she will." She rolls her eyes, as if to say that's not happening anytime soon. "In the meantime, the tape deck will just have to do."

Amy runs a finger across the front of the deck, carefully, as if she's afraid it might break. "I didn't even know they still _made_ tape decks," she says. She presses the eject button and pluck the small white cassette free, glancing at the name in the haze of the street lights. "Billy Joel?"

Reagan nods, a small smile on her face. "Billy's the man," she says. "My parents used to play his music in the car whenever we went anywhere. I knew all the words to _Piano Man_ by the time I was five." She gazes at the tape in Amy's hand for a moment before returning her eyes to the road. "You _have_ heard of Billy, right?"

Amy nods. "I think so," she says. "I think my mom listens to him. Or did, when she was young and her taste hadn't drifted to shit that could pass for elevator music." She flips the tape around in her hand. "Didn't he do that song from _Lion King_? _Circle of Life?"_

Reagan groans. "Oh, God. That was Elton John." She shakes her head. "I'm on a date with a heathen."

Amy feigns indignation, but the smile on her face betrays her. "Heathen? Moi?"

"Yes," Reagan says, "_you_." She points at Amy for emphasis. "You haven't heard of Billy, you apparently only know Elton from a _Disney_ movie…" And the shudder that flows through her at the mention of Disney is about the cutest damn thing Amy's ever seen. "You've never even seen the _Princess Bride_."

"I know," Amy says, nodding. "It's inconceivable."

"Damn right it…" Reagan trails off, then shoots a quick glance at Amy, who tries (and fails) to imitate the older girl's eyebrow game. "Wait…" she says. "Inconceivable… you keep on using that word…"

"I do not think it means what you think it means," Amy finishes the sentence, grinning like a fool.

_This_, she thinks, is what it must feel like to actually surprise someone.

"You saw _Princess Bride_?" Reagan asks. Amy nods. "When?"

"Last night," Amy says "Turns out Lauren owned the collector's edition DVD - go figure _that_ - and when she heard me telling you I hadn't seen it, she practically hog tied to me to the couch."

"And?" Reagan waves a hand at her, motioning for her to keep going.

"And…" Amy frowns. "And you were right." She tries to ignore the smirk crossing Reagan's face. "It was awesome. "

"And…?"

"Fine," Amy sighs. "Robin Wright was a… how did you put it?"

"A total smoke show," Reagan laughs.

"Yeah," Amy says. "_That_." It's her turn to laugh. "God, _I'm _on a date with a fifteen year old boy."

Reagan pulls one hand off the wheel and presses it to her chest. "Moi?"

"Yes, _you_," Amy replies. "Ogling actresses in movie, listening to oldies rock and roll. You've probably even named your truck." When Reagan doesn't reply and, in fact, turns and glances out her window, Amy knows she's hit a nerve. "Oh. My. God. You named your truck! You did."

Reagan stares straight ahead. "All the best cars have names," she says.

"Let me guess," Amy says, turning in her seat to face Reagan. "Butch? Louise? Francesca?"

Reagan does her best to bite back a giggle. "Francesca?"

"I don't know," Amy says. "I've never had a car, so what the hell do I know about car names?" She reaches over and puts a hand on Reagan's arm. "Tell me? Please?"

Reagan would, if she could. But _something_ just forced all the air out of her lungs and the blood from her brain and, oh fuck, if just the touch of her _hand_ can do this… "It's…. um…"

"Um?" Amy asks. "You named your car 'um'?"

Reagan manages to shake her head and takes a deep breath. Shit, she thinks, I'm in _trouble_.

"Lightning," she finally gasps out. "Her name is Lightning."

Amy sits back, taking her hand with her and Reagan immediately wishes she hadn't. "Lightning," she says. "Lightning." She nods as she says it, as if it agrees with her.

Which is good Because right about now, Reagan would probably agree to Butch or Louise or even Francesca if Amy asked.

"So, is that Lightning as in _Greased Lightning_?"

"Oh, God no," Reagan says, forcing herself to calm the _fuck_ down. "Not all gays like the musicals, Shrimps. And I, for one, _hate_ that fucking movie." She pauses for a moment, "But… Olivia Newton John in those leather pants…"

Amy laughs and it hits Reagan right then just how much she'd like to hear that sound more often.

"So it's just Lighting?" Amy asks. Reagan shrugs, which even Amy recognizes as code for 'no, but I'm not telling you', and she is _so_ not going to let this go. "Oh, come on," she says. "You've already told me part of it. You can't leave me hanging here."

Reagan shakes her head. "Nope," she says. "Not gonna happen."

"Fine, don't tell me," Amy says. She turns back in her seat, crosses her arms and stares straight ahead. "And in case you can't see it," she says. "I'm totally pouting right now."

Reagan smirks at how quickly she's regained control.

Which, she knows, is utter bullshit. Because if Amy keeps pouting…

"Pouting," Reagan says "doesn't work on me."

And when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Amy turn to her again, with the most incredibly evil (and so fucking sexy) grin on her face, Reagan immediately thinks pouting might be better.

"So, no pouting," Amy says. "So, what _does_ work? How about this?" She fixes Reagan with her best come hither stare, which mostly means she looks slightly constipated. "How about this?" Amy attempts to shake her chest like the girls in the music videos.

Reagan laughs so hard she nearly crosses into oncoming traffic.

Amy sits back for a moment, studying the older girl. And then, in a flash of inspiration, she unbuckles her belt, leans over, placing her hand back on Reagan's arm, resting her chin on Reagan's shoulder, her lips just inches from Reagan's ear.

"How," she whispers "about this?" Her breath is warm on Reagan's ear, her fingers ghosting small circles on the skin of the older girl's arm.

Reagan cracks like a cheap walnut.

"McQueen," she says. "OK? Lightning _McQueen_. Now just go back over there," she says, waving one hand in the general direction of Amy's seat. "Before you know, we get in an accident or something."

Amy doesn't move for a long - so _very fucking long_ to Reagan - moment. She's not trying to torture Reagan, really she isn't. But it's suddenly hit her, what she's doing. And if Reagan was surprised by it?

Amy's fucking stunned.

She - finally - leans back in her seat, slipping the belt back around herself. "Sorry," she says.

"Sorry?" Reagan asks, only slightly mortified by the way her voice cracks slightly. "What are you sorry for?"

"For… _that_," Amy says quietly. "I don't know what came over me. I was just teasing you and we were laughing and having fun and…" She sighs. "And then there was the touching and the whispering and the being all breathy and shit..."

Reagan steers the car into a small parking lot, taking a spot near the back. "Shrimps?" Amy sits silently, staring straight ahead. "Amy, look at me."

Amy turns to her, and Reagan can see it all over her face. She's scared and confused and for all the confidence she showed a minute ago, Amy clearly has no idea what the hell she's doing.

It's so fucking adorable, Reagan could cry.

"Do I look like I'm complaining about the touching and the whispering and the…"

"Being all breathy," Amy adds.

"Right," Reagan says. She slides out from under the seat belt and leans over, laying one hand on top of Amy's. "I'm going to be blunt here, Shrimps. I'm attracted to you. Like _way_ more than I should be."

Amy frowns and Reagan realizes her mistake.

"It's not that I shouldn't be attracted to you," she says. "But we've actually hung out together for about an hour now. And usually it takes me a little longer than that to get to… this point."

"What point?" Amy asks as she turns her hand over beneath Reagan's. tentatively sliding her fingers between the older girl's.

Reagan bites down on her bottom lip at the contact. "The point where scrapping our date and taking you back to my place sounds so very appealing." And even in the low lights of the parking lot, she can see Amy blush, but she can also see her smile. "I'm guessing you don't hear that sort of thing very often?"

Amy shakes her head. And her breath hitches as Reagan laces their fingers together.

"Then everyone you hang out with is either dumb, blind, or a gay guy," Reagan says, marvelling to herself at how well their hands fit together. "Trust me, Shrimps, if you ever let out whatever part of you just dropped all that sexy on me, you'll be beating the dudes _and_ the lesbians off with a stick."

Amy looks down at their hands in her lap. And suddenly the idea of going back to Reagan's apartment sounds pretty good to her too.

"We don't _have_ to stay here," she says, and even though she hears the words and knows that's her voice saying them, she's still surprised.

She's more surprised that she thinks she means it.

Reagan gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "Believe me, Shrimps, I am sorely tempted."

"But?" Amy asks.

"But," Reagan says. "I spent ten minutes in your driveway tonight freaking out. I was terrified - for various reasons we're not going to talk about on a first date - but I finally got out of the car. Not because I was attracted to you or wanted to take you home. But because I really want… this..."

Reagan trails off. It had been a while, sure, but even she knows this isn't the sort of thing you were supposed to say on a first date.

"I want it, too," Amy says. Reagan's eyes shoot up to meet hers. "I want to go on our date. I want to talk to you and get to know you, and I _really_ want to know why you named your truck after a cartoon race car." She smiles and so does Reagan. "So, how about we save the deep stuff for later and just have some fun for now? Deal?"

Reagan brings their entwined hands to her lips and ghosts one soft kiss across Amy's knuckles. "Deal." she says. "But I'm so not telling you about the truck."

Amy pops open her door, stepping out into the parking lot. She pulls Reagan out, never once dropping her hand. "Oh, you'll tell me," she says. "I have my ways."

And Reagan knows she's right. But she doesn't mind a bit.

* * *

><p><em>She's not.<em>

_She's. Not. _

Well. OK. That's good. Glad we're getting past that.

Keep telling yourself that Karma. And let me know when you believe it.

Reagan pulls into the coffee shop parking lot, and takes a spot by the door. She cuts the engine and leans back in her seat.

"I'm sorry," she says, so softly that Karma almost doesn't hear her.

"What?" Karma shakes herself back into the here and now. "Did you just say you were sorry?"

Reagan nods. "That was a bitch move," she says. "Telling you Amy doesn't love you like that." The older girl shakes her head. "Here I am worrying about you getting territorial and I come out with _that_? I may as well have just peed on Amy."

"Or given her a hickey," Karma says, reminding them both of the series of bites that were clearly visible on Amy that morning.

"Yeah," Reagan says. "That too." She shifts in her seat so she can look at Karma. "Look, maybe we should just start over, you know? I mean, I know this isn't totally fair. Amy's told me _all_ about you, and I've been kept a bit of a secret."

Karma snorts. "A _bit_?" Talk about your under-fucking-statement. "I didn't even know you existed until yesterday. And now you're sleeping in my friend's bed, giving her hickeys, getting her videotaped, you're friends with the wicked step-sister - who's _threatening_ me by the way - and you're buttering up my mom like it's me you want to sleep with."

Reagan arches an eyebrow. "Tell me how you _really _feel, Karma."

"I feel shut the fuck out, that's how I feel." Karma's voice dropped. Yesterday, when Amy had told her about Reagan, she'd been too shocked and too angry to really feel it.

But now it was hitting her. Over and over and fucking over again.

Karma stared at the little DJ, with its head still bobbling along, not a care in the world. "My best friend, my _soulmate_ shut me out of this huge part of her life for two fucking months. And if Shane doesn't open his mouth, I don't know if I'd even know about you now."

"Shane?" Reagan's confused. How does Shane factor into all this?

And now it's Karma's turn to smirk. "Amy didn't tell you?" She laughs, but it's a hard and painful sounding thing. "Shane screwed up. He mentioned you in front of me at lunch. After that, Amy couldn't lie anymore."

"Oh," Reagan says. And, to be honest, she doesn't really know what else to say.

"Welcome to my world." Karma says. She reaches out and presses a hand to the little DJ's head, stilling it. "How's it feel? How's it feel being the one lied to?"

"She didn't lie to me." Reagan says, hoping she sounds like she means it more than she feels like she does. "She told me you found out. The how doesn't really matter."

"Of course not," Karma says. "Because she _told_ you. She told you about me. She told you about faking it for fuck's sake."

Reagan thinks, for just a moment, about telling Karma that it was _Lauren_ that told her about faking it, or at least got the ball rolling.

But then she thinks better of it.

"Do you know what she told _me?_," Karma asks. And now that anger from the day before is rushing back, overriding everything else. "She told me to grow the fuck up. She told me that she needed something just for her. Something _I _couldn't fuck up."

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.

Reagan makes a mental note to remind Amy to tell her things she _might_ need to know.

"When," Karma says, and this time it's her turn to stare into Reagan's eyes. "When did I become the person Amy _can't_ tell things to? When did I become the fuck up?" There's tears in her eyes but a bitter anger in her voice. "When the hell did my _best friend_ decide I wasn't worth trusting with her heart?"

And the words leave Reagan's mouth before she can stop them.

"Probably right around the time you broke it."

* * *

><p>Amy stares up at the big bright yellow neon sign and knot of fear ties itself off in her stomach.<p>

"_Planter's_?" she asks. "Like the peanuts?"

Reagan bumps the blonde's shoulder with her own. "Relax, Shrimps. I haven't forgotten your allergy." Amy smiles weakly, not quite convinced.

"Planter," Reagan says, "was the name of the first owner and when his daughter was born, they found out she had a peanut allergy. So, he changed the whole menu over, all the way down to how they make the food."

She raises their joined hands and points to a sign on the door - a peanut with a giant red 'X' through it.

"When the owner retired, his daughter took over and she kept it all the same," Reagan says. "This is, without a doubt, the safest place for you to eat in all of Austin."

Amy smiles, for real, touched by how thoughtful Reagan is. "You know, under that super cool DJ girl exterior, you're nothing but a big old softy, aren't you?"

Reagan shrugs. Only for you, she thinks, but says nothing, instead just tugging Amy though the front door of the diner by their still linked hands.

It's the smell that hits Amy first. And between the feel of Reagan's hand in hers and that _wonderful_ smell, the blonde is pretty sure she's just found heaven.

"Oh my God," she says. "What is _that_?" She takes in a deep breath. This, she imagines, is what a kitchen should smell like, instead of the rank smell of days old take out (a Farrah speciality) or some unholy mixture of veggies and herbs and, possibly, illegal drugs (the Ashcroft house in a nutshell, no pun intended).

"That," Reagan says, "would be _those_." She drops Amy's hand to point at a glass case by the front counter. And Amy, despite instantaneously missing the contact, is too transfixed by what's behind the glass to think about it.

"No. Fucking. Way." She rushes the case like a kid on Christmas morning, crouching down in front of it, barely even noticing when her breath fogs the glass. "Are those?"

"Yup," Reagan says, coming up behind her. "Twenty different kinds of homemade, fresh baked, totally peanut free doughnuts." She can't help but laugh at the way Amy's staring at the baked goods. "They actually have forty different kinds, but they rotate them in and out."

Amy presses her fingers against the glass. "So, we were planning to order one of each and just stay here the rest of the night?"

Reagan kneels beside her, putting one hand on Amy's knee. "Not exactly," she says. "But I did get you a treat." She stands back up, offering Amy a hand, which the blonde takes, but not before shooting one last wistful glance at the case.

Reagan leads her to a small table in the corner. "Your table, milady." She pulls out the chair for Amy, the one in front of a large box.

A large, yummy smelling box.

"If that's what I think it is," Amy says, as she sits down. "I may just have to marry you."

Reagan leans over and opens the box, allowing Amy to feast her eyes on two _dozen_ beautiful doughnuts. "Just for you," Reagan says. But when Amy reaches for one, Reagan smacks her hand and closes the box. "For you to _take home_," she says. "For here, we're actually going to have a meal."

Amy pouts. Doughnuts are a meal.

Reagan sits down across from her, then waves back at someone behind the counter. A moment later a middle-aged waitress appears next to their table.

"Rea, it's so nice to see you. It's been too long."

Reagan stands and hugs the woman and Amy feels a slight pang of jealousy.

Not for the hug. But because Reagan knows the _doughnut woman_.

"Jana, this is Amy, my date for the evening," Reagan says. "Amy, this is Jana Planter, owner and proprietor of your new favorite place on Earth."

"You own the place?" Amy asks. "Are you hiring? I'd make a great taste-tester. You wouldn't even have to pay me."

Jana laughs and smiles and Amy immediately likes the woman even more.

"Rea said you had a thing for the baked goods," Jana says. "She also might have mentioned that you liked bacon?"

Amy's eyes grow impossibly wide. "Do you have a bacon flavored donut?"

Jana nods and points at the box on the table. "Fourth row, third from the top," she says. Amy reaches for the box and Reagan smacks her hand, _again_. "But, we also have something else you might like." She disappears behind the counter again and reappears with two plates, which she slides down in front of the girls.

Reagan and Jana both grin as Amy takes in the sight on her plate. "Is that? No. I mean, I've heard of them, but…" She looks up at the waitress and then over at Reagan. "Is it?"

Reagan nods. "Deep fried doughnut bacon cheeseburger," she says. "Best in the state. Guaranteed to raise your cholesterol fifty points just from looking at it."

Amy picks up the burger. "It's so beautiful," she says. "I almost can't bring myself to take a bite."

And then she takes the biggest bite Reagan's ever seen anyone take of anything, ever.

"What?" Amy says over a mouthful of deep fried deliciousness. "I said _almost_."

Exactly eighteen and a half minutes later…

"That," Amy says, "was so good, I think it got me pregnant. Which is fine, because if I was ever going to have babies, I would totally want them to be deep fried bacon burger babies."

Reagan stares from across the table, her face a mixture of admiration, fear, and - she'll admit it - arousal. "It was like watching one of those shows on the Nature Channel," she says. "The ones where they show the lion devouring its prey."

"I wasn't that bad," Amy says.

"I offered you the other half of mine," Reagan says, "and I thought you were going to eat my hand with it."

Amy smirks at her. "Lesson number one about me, DJ - never come between me and bacon. Or a doughnut." She thinks about it for a minute. "Or shrimp."

Reagan's phone vibrates its way across the table and she snatches it up. "Shit," she says. "It's work. I have to take this. Be right back?"

Amy nods as the older girl stands and strolls to the other side of the near empty diner to take her call. Jana appears to take their plates. "Thank you, Jana," Amy says. "That was _so_ good."

"Reagan thought you'd like it," the older woman says as she collects Amy's plate. She's not even sure she'll have to run it through the dishwasher, its been licked so clean.

"Have you known her long?" Amy asks.

Jana nods. "Since she was little. Her whole family used to come in once a week." Jana's smile grows a little sad. "Even after the divorce and the move, Reagan stills comes in a couple times a month."

Amy knows she shouldn't ask her next question, but she can't help it. "So you must have met a lot of the girls she's dated?"

Jana smirks knowingly at Amy. "Trying to get a little inside info?"

Amy blushes. "No, it's just… this is my first date," she says, chalking her sudden forthcoming nature up to _how can you not trust the Doughnut Woman_? "And I guess I'm worried I won't measure up."

Jana glances over, sees Reagan still in the corner talking animatedly into her cell. "Well," she says. "I wouldn't really know. You're the first girl she's ever brought here."

The nice doughnut lady sees the surprise on Amy's face.

"Reagan doesn't date a lot, that I know of, "Jana says." she's always been more of a commitment girl. She was with Shelby for… a year, I think… and I never even met her. Heard _all_ about her. But never met her."

She smiles at Amy again and clears the table, leaving the blonde to her thoughts. Reagan smiles at her from across the room and Amy smiles back, but those words keep running through her mind.

_You're the first girl she's ever brought here._

It might not mean as much as Amy thinks it does. It might not mean anything.

But Amy thinks it does. She thinks it means a lot.

And she just hopes it means as much to Reagan as it does to her.

* * *

><p>If looks really could kill, Reagan's pretty sure the glare Karma's burning into her right now would have killed her, cremated her, and spread her ashes to the wind.<p>

And, as much as she hates to admit it, she might deserve it.

_Right around the time you broke it_

Could she have gone for any more of a cheap shot? Sure, it's the _truth_, and yeah, sometimes the truth hurts.

But still…

So much for two mature women having coffee and getting to know each other.

So much for a lot of things.

Karma finally breaks the silence and, since it's not by lunging across the cab of the truck to strangle her, Reagan's eager to listen.

"You don't know _shit_ about that."

"Amy told me - "

Karma shakes her head. "I don't care what she told you. I don't give one single solitary _fuck_ what she told you." She's fisting her seatbelt in her hand and Reagan wonders, briefly, if the redhead could get the belt all the way across the cab and around her throat.

"Look, Karma -"

"No." Karma hasn't stopped glaring, Reagan's not even sure she's blinked. "I will _not_ look. I will not listen. I will not sit here and let you…"

"Let me what?" Reagan asks, her aggravation getting the better of her, _again_. "What is it I'm doing, Karma?"

"You're talking about things that are none of your fucking business,"

Reagan feels bad for what she said. Really. She didn't ask Karma for coffee so she could hurt her. That wasn't the plan.

But she's also starting to wonder if maybe a lot of this could have been avoided if _someone_ had called Karma out on some shit a long while ago.

"Amy," Reagan says,"_is_ my business. I'm her girlfriend, in case you forgot."

Karma smirks, and Reagan immediately misses the glare. "Yeah, you're her girlfriend. But do you really think that's going to last?" Karma, apparently, has decided not to pull punches either. "I mean come on, Reagan. You're hot and all. But your temporary. Do you really think 'Reamy' is endgame here?"

"And you think you're going to be the one to decide that, Karma?" Reagan hates the viciously territorial lesbian stereotype.

But that doesn't mean she won't live up to it.

Karma smiles at her and there's something so spiteful about it that Reagan can't help wondering what this girl would do if she ever found out about Amy and Liam.

"You think I _can't_?" Karma asks. "You think you're so far into Amy's life that I can't get you out, just. like. that?"

Reagan knows this isn't going to end well. Hell, it didn't _start _well. But now… now she appreciates just how far off the rails this has gone. And she's the older one. The supposed adult. She should stop it.

She _should_.

"Not her life," Reagan says. "Her _heart_."

Karma just laughs. Not a chuckle or a snort but a full on throw her head back and let it rip laugh. "Her heart? Babe, the only thing you're _in_ is her bed. And trust me, I know how easy it is to get caught up in all that. How easily finally getting a little can blind you. It was like that with me and Liam in the beginning."

Reagan resists the urge to visibly recoil at the mention of the douche. "Amy and I are nothing like you and Liam," she snaps. "You wanted him because he was popular. He just wanted to fuck a lesbian."

Karma doesn't miss a beat. "And that makes him different from you, how?"

"I don't want to fuck _a _lesbian, Karma." Reagan leans forward, making sure the younger girl can hear every word. "I want to fuck _Amy_. And last time I checked? That was one thing you sure as hell couldn't give her."

"And that's _all_ you can give her," Karma spits back. "You can't give her history. You can't give her ten years. You can't give her a connection. Not like ours."

Reagan undoes her belt. She's had about enough. "I wouldn't want to," she says. "You act like you have this sacred, unbreakable bond."

"We do."

"Yeah?" Reagan knows this is it.

This is the one she can't take back.

"So tell me Karma," she says. "When your best friend, your _soulmate_ was at her most vulnerable, when she had just revealed to you her biggest, deepest, most frightening secret, when she had _come out_ to you, what did you do?"

It's the one thing, the one mistake in ten years that Karma truly fears they'll never be able to get past.

And Reagan knows it.

"I broke her heart," Karma says. And the glare is gone. The fire and venom has fallen from her voice. And Reagan almost feels sorry for her.

Almost.

"You still don't get it," Reagan says. "It wasn't the rejection. It wasn't that you didn't love her like that."

Karma's lost, Reagan can see it in her eyes.

"You told her it was no big deal," Reagan says. She can still remember the night Amy finally told her everything about the wedding. How she could still recite Karma's words _exactly_. "You told her she was confused."

Karma's breaking right in front of her, but Reagan can't stop.

She's sinking in quicksand.

"You told her you slept with Liam."

Karma's eyes squeeze shut and that only serves to flush the tears down her cheek.

"Amy opened her heart to you, Karma," Reagan says. "She counted on that bond. Maybe not to make you love her like that, but to at least make you be the friend you always claim to be."

Karma shakes in her seat, shuddering sobs rumbling through her.

"You want to know why Amy might keep something from you?" Reagan swings her door open and hops from the truck. "After that night, if _I _was Amy, I doubt I'd tell you anything ever again."

Reagan slams the door shut and walks into the shop, leaving Karma sobbing behind her.

She hates that she said it. She hates that she did it.

But somebody had to. Somebody had to have Amy's back.

That used to be Karma's job.

Not anymore.

* * *

><p>Amy follows Reagan across the street, over a trail through a small patch of woods, and then down a small hill.<p>

_Over the river and through the woods…_

"Is this the part where you kill me and bury my recently fattened up body somewhere in the woods?"

"If I was going to kill you, Shrimps, I'd have just slipped some peanuts into your burger," Reagan says. "OK, we're here."

Here looks suspiciously like an old abandoned lot with a rickety swing set sitting right in the middle of the light from one street lamp.

"And here is?"

"An old abandoned lot with a rickety swing set," Reagan says, waving her arms to encompass all of it. "And also, my favorite place on Earth."

Reagan takes her Amy by the hand and guides her to the swing set, settling her on one, before she sits down on the other.

She points off into the distance, toward a small cluster of houses. "That's where I grew up, at least at first," she says. "We lived in that development. Me, my mom, my dad, and Glenn. He and I found this place one day, after we'd all had breakfast at Planter's."

Reagan swings gently and Amy waits. She knows this means something to Reagan and she'll let her tell it at her own pace.

"Glenn and I used to come here all the time," Reagan says. "Whenever our parents were fighting, which was basically _all the time_." Reagan stares off at the houses in the distance, watches as lights blink out one by one. "It just sort of became our place. I don't think I ever saw another kid here."

_You're the first girl she's ever brought here_.

Amy closes her eyes. She _has _to. If she looks at Reagan for one more minute…

"There used to be a movie theater up the hill, behind those houses," Reaga says. "When I was 11, my mother took me to see _Cars _there one Sunday."

Amy pushes herself gently on the swing, moving back and forth, just listening.

"A week later, she and my dad sat me and Glenn down and told us they were getting a divorce." Reagan hops off her own swing, moving behind Amy, giving her gentle pushes.

Using the motion to hide the tears.

"That movie was the last day my mom and I ever spent together, just the two of us."

And suddenly, 'McQueen' makes so much sense it makes Amy's heart hurt,

"I still come here," Reagan says. "When I need to be alone, when I need to think, when I need to let myself stop hating my mother and just miss her."

Amy stops swinging, spinning herself around, letting the chains get tangled up. She reaches out and pulls Reagan to her, slipping her arms around the older girl's waist.

"I don't know…" Reagan starts but then stops. "I've never brought anyone else here," she says. "And honestly, I wasn't even planning to tonight. I was just going to take you to Planter's and then maybe we'd go for a walk or stargaze from the back of Lightning… but then…"

"But then, what?" Amy asks, afraid she's done something without knowing.

"Then I saw you," Reagan says, smiling even though there are still tears in her eyes

"Saw me?" Amy asks.

Reagan nods as she brings one hand to Amy's cheek, her heart shuddering when Amy leans into the contact.

"When you came down the stairs in your house," she says. "When you climbed in my truck. When you saw the doughnuts, when you took that first bite of burger and dripped ketchup down your chin, when you - "

And her words are cut off by Amy's lips pressing against hers and, for just a second, Reagan forgets to breathe.

But then she feels Amy's tongue poking against her lips and she opens up and Amy's breathing for the both of them.

Reagan brings both hands up to cup Amy's cheeks and she feels Amy's hands as they clutch at the back of her shirt. And Amy tastes like doughnut and burger and ketchup and so many other things that Reagan thinks - no, she's _sure_ - she'll never get tired of.

And for a very long while, even after that first kiss - and a second and a third and a few more - are done, they stay there, wrapped up in each other, listening to the sounds of the night and swaying beneath the light of that one street lamp.


	14. Chapter 13

_**A/N: I didn't plan for this to be a Karma-centric chapter, but it is. She got her butt kicked a bit in the last one, and this one's not much better. Although, there is some Liam bashing so...**_

Karma shouldn't be alone.

More to the point, she shouldn't be alone in Reagan's truck, staring at that fucking picture on the dash.

_She asked. I said 'yes'._

_Reamy's a thing_.

A thing. That's fucking accurate, Karma thinks. A thing. A blob. Frankenstein's monster made of soulmates and dorky hot lesbians.

A fucking _thing. _

Yeah, she should definitely _not _be alone. But who was she going to call?

Amy?

Yeah, that would go well. Hey, Aimes? Yeah, so I just basically threatened to end your relationship and your girlfriend essentially called me a selfish bitch.

Karma does pull out her phone - _not_ to call Amy, but because she has a sudden and immediate need to see something, something she's had tucked away in her pictures for months. She searches through the gallery, not noticing - _acknowledging_ - that there's three times as many pictures of her and Amy as there are of her and Liam.

There's three times as many pictures of _just_ Amy as there are with Liam. Even if you count the ones where he's in the background or part of a group shot or the semi-pornographic ones he's taken to sending her lately that she has hidden in a separate folder.

But Karma's not thinking of that right now, because right now, she's found what she was looking for.

The picture from the quad. The one she took when she kissed Amy and then posted it on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and - possibly - her old MySpace account.

She was excited. Shit happens.

She zooms the pic in, making sure to get their faces front and center. And then she's holding it next to that little picture on Reagan's dash.

And motherfucker, how did she not see it before?

How did no one see it?

It's plain as day now, so obvious that Karma can only assume it was a mass delusion or a cult-like need for, as Shane always called it, lesbian energy that kept everyone else blind.

It had to be something like that, she thinks. Because anyone with eyes and even half a functional brain can see it. It's right there in the picture, in all its pixelated glory.

Nothing.

She looks again. Maybe she was too quick. Maybe she rushed to judgment.

Nope. Nothing.

The picture of Amy and Reagan, who aren't even kissing - because, come on, a peck on the forehead does not a _kiss_ make - is still dripping in chemistry. It's like the two of them can't be in the same place at the same time without sparks flying around.

Someday, Karma thinks, someone will write a lesbian romance novel - she assumes there are such things - and use Amy and Reagan as cover models. It'll be a bestseller.

And even beyond the sparks, beyond the collective hotness, all you have to do is look at Amy's face.

Peaceful. Content. Right where she belongs.

And then there's the picture of her and Karma.

Karma has to stifle a bitter, of the irony of it all laugh. Because for someone who was supposedly in love with her - in love with the person actually _kissing_ her - Amy looks anything but peaceful. Anything but content.

She looks, Karma thinks, like she'd rather be anywhere else.

She looks like she'd rather be _anyone_ else.

Karma could chalk it up to Amy knowing, in that moment, how she really felt. And sure, kissing someone you really _want_ to kiss, but knowing they don't feel the same?

Yeah, that could suck.

So, Karma could cut Amy some slack. But then there's Karma herself. And holy fucking shit, could she look any _more_ uncomfortable. Sure, she's trying to line up a photo op at the same time she's trying to frame the perfect sweet Karmy kiss, but damn.

She's supposed to be kissing her _girlfriend_. The _love of her life._

And, Karma has to admit, she looks more like she's kissing her sister.

No. Even sisters have hotter kisses than that.

She looks like she's kissing that annoying aunt, the one who'll never settle for just a kiss on the cheek and you try so hard to let _just_ the tip of your lips make contact because, let's face it, you don't know where Aunt Crazy has been.

Karma's tempted, for just a second, to scroll through and find a picture of her kissing Liam, so she can make sure it isn't just _her_. So she can make sure she has chemistry with someone.

But this day has already sucked enough. She's not taking any more chances.

Her phone goes off in her hand and she drops it. Snatching it up off the floor of Reagan's truck, she answers without looking, hoping - for some ridiculous reason - that it's Amy calling to make sure she and Reagan haven't killed each other.

It's not.

It's Liam.

Shit.

Karma leans back in the seat, which seems to do nothing but force a rush of Amy's scent out of the fabric and Karma feels like she's choking.

Liam wants to know where she is. He's been calling since last night. He texted her like a hundred times. He even went by her house first thing this morning, but her mom told him that Karma was already out and she didn't know where.

Yeah. Right.

Because Molly wouldn't know that if Karma wasn't with Liam, there was only one other place she'd be on a Saturday morning.

An obvious fact that was, apparently, _too_ obvious for Liam.

Karma fills in the blanks for him and says she went to Amy's and _now_ Liam has a clue, because he immediately puts two and two together and figures Karma saw the video.

Well, duh. Is there someone who _hasn't _seen the video?

Karma shrugs, forgetting that he isn't actually there - and ignoring what that _should_ tell her about how distinctive his presence really is in her life - and then says that yes, she saw it.

No, it didn't bother her. Why would it?

Because, Liam points out, it was Amy. Amy kissing someone. Someone who wasn't _her_.

Liam doesn't actually say the last part, but Karma knows he's thinking it.

At first, his barely repressed jealousy over Amy was cute. Now it just reeks of insecurity and desperation.

Karma would know.

It's no big deal, she tells him. Amy's kissed people before. Amy's kissed _her_ before.

Hell, Amy's kissed _Liam_ before. Karma knows. She was there.

And yeah, she's not thinking about that right now, either.

But really, Liam's thinking Karma might be bothered because she didn't know Amy had a girlfriend. And Liam knows Karma didn't know because, all evidence to the contrary, Liam's not a complete idiot.

If Karma had known, she'd have mentioned it. Repeatedly. Ad nauseum.

_All the fucking time_.

No, Karma says. She's not bothered. It's good that Amy has someone. It's good that she's moving on. All Karma wants is for Amy to be happy.

Liam thinks that's great. He's happy that she's happy.

And maybe he _is _ a complete idiot.

But, Karma thinks, he's a complete idiot with a car. And a set of perfectly pillow like lips. And a hard-on - figuratively and literally - for her.

Idiot? Maybe. Perfect distraction to make her stop thinking about Amy and Reagan?

Definitely.

"I'm at the coffee shop at the corner of West and Clarence," she says. "Be here in ten minutes and I'll make it worth your while."

He's there in seven.

And as Karma rides away, she spots Reagan walking out of the coffee shop. And, she figures, by the time the older girl notices that picture's not taped to the dash anymore, Karma and Liam will be long gone.

* * *

><p>Most girls who have the privilege of hooking up with Liam Booker would be entirely happy with him on top of them, pressing them against one of the cold metal tables in the art room, with their jeans bunched around their knees and their panties halfway there.<p>

Most girls would probably make some comment about not minding the cold. And follow that up by reminding Liam that could warm them up.

Unless he said it before them. Which, Karma knows, would likely not be the only thing he would do first.

That would be most girls. But Karma's not most girls, though you'd be hard pressed to tell that by the way Liam's working his moves on her. The way he's nuzzling at her neck, and making her wonder how lips that look so pillow soft can feel so much like sandpaper.

On any other day, the fact that her top is still on - and not even _wrinkled_ - but Liam's belt is off and his jeans are sliding toward the floor would piss Karma off.

But today is not any other day.

Today, given everything, Karma is doing her best to be 'most girls'. She's doing her level best to not care about how cheap and tawdry this is. She's doing everything she can to not think about what it means that Liam still hasn't introduced her to his family. Or that he's gotten better at using the g-word - he's made it all way way to calling her his 'girl' - but only in private.

She's trying so hard not to think about how many of those 'most girls' were pinned down on this same table.

But the trouble is, Karma's not really good at _not_ thinking about too many things. And the limited 'not gonna deal with it' space in her mind is already full:

_inlovewith__**DJReagan**_**. **_#bestthingtoeverhappentome_

_I won't apologize for loving her. Not now. Not ever._

_Right about the time you broke it._

_If I were Amy… I'd never tell you anything again._

So, Karma's already working hard to not think about a lot. So, trying not to think about Liam and his sad sack attempts at foreplay - for 'most girls', just saying 'I'm Liam Booker' probably did the trick - or the way he sounds like an asthmatic poodle when he starts to get _really _excited?

Yeah, that's not happening.

Karma shoves him off and slides down from the metal table, pulling her jeans back up from around her knees while steadfastly ignoring the 'what the fuck' look on his face.

But, when he _says_ it. it's a little harder to ignore.

Karma pauses for a minute. She's trying to remind herself that she's not mad at _him_. He's not the cause for this _and_ she did, basically, tell him she was going to fuck him.

But then, for the briefest of seconds, it crosses her mind.

He'd probably fuck Reagan. Not that she would let him - most _real_ lesbians aren't all that interested in fulfilling the fantasy of the local straight douche.

But he would want to . He'd be willing.

_Shit. _He'd probably fuck _Amy_. Oh, he said he wouldn't after the threesome. He said he only wanted her there because he was a good guy and he didn't want to break up Hester's cutest couple.

But Amy's a lesbian. Apparently.

And, besides 'most girls', that's apparently Liam's type.

So, when he asks Karma again - though, to his credit, he asks her if she's OK and not 'what the fuck' because, it seems, she's just been staring at him for life five minutes - she glares at him. And gives him the most honest answer she can.

"Do I _fucking _look like I'm OK?" And, as she stalks out of the art room (as much as one _can _stalk with one's underwear not fully back in place), she turns back. "And _this_," she says, waving her hand between them. "_This_ isn't happening again until you introduce your _girlfriend_ to your family."

Karma's tired of secrets. She's even more tired of being one.

* * *

><p>She's halfway to Amy's house before she thinks better of it.<p>

She's three-quarters of the way there before she thinks better of it enough to turn around.

Karma's often oblivious and, for all her dossiers and planning, she often leaps without looking. But even she is smart enough to know that showing up at Amy's house right now won't make anything better.

Amy might not even be back from shopping with Lauren yet.

Reagan might be there.

_Lauren_ might be there. And even with the evil blonde's intersex secret in her back pocket, Karma's still a little - _just_ a little - afraid of what Satan's ninja might do.

And it's that thought - not the fear, but the thought of using Lauren's secret against her - taht makes Karma stop in the middle of the street.

When, she wonders, did she become a person who would consider outing someone. When did that become acceptable to her?

Probably, she figures, right around the same time faking being a lesbian, lying to a boy to make him fall for her, using her best friend, ignoring the clear and obvious signs that she was hurting that best friend, and threatening that best friend's new girlfriend all became acceptable.

Well. Shit.

And Karma has to race off the street to the nearest set of bushes, where she promptly throws up the very little that was in her stomach. And, as she wipes her mouth with a tissue from her pocket, she's insanely glad she didn't actually get any coffee.

That shit burns coming back up.

She takes a few steps and she sits down on the grass and puts her head in her hands. She wants to cry, to scream. She wants…

She doesn't know. For the first time in her life, Karma has absolutely no fucking idea what she wants. That one thing that was always crystal clear in her mind, is now clouded over and hidden behind a bunch of rocks.

And she's just too tired to lift them.

And while Karma may not know what she _does_ want, she knows it isn't this. She doesn't want to be lost and confused and sitting on the grass, less than five feet from her own puke.

Alone.

She's alone.

And _that's _what finally brings the tears.

* * *

><p>Karma's very grateful for her mother. Because Molly knows her well enough that when she sees the look on Karma's face as she comes through the door?<p>

Molly knows what to do.

She leads Karma to the kitchen table, settles her in a chair, and sets to making her daughter a cup of tea.

It's essentially the opposite of her conversation with Liam. There's no questions, no pressure. Molly doesn't say a word, doesn't even bat an eye as Karma drops the picture of Amy and Reagan on the table. She doesn't ask how the coffee date went or why Karma walked home.

Molly just takes care of her little girl.

And when her mother slides the cup of tea onto the table in front of her, Karma reaches out and clasps a hand around Molly's arm, tugging on it gently. And Molly kneels, immediately wrapping her daughter in her arms as Karma lets loose with ugly, heaving sobs, burying her face in her mother's neck.

And, for just a moment, Karma doesn't feel so alone.

And that just makes the tears worse.

* * *

><p>Once the sobs have stopped and the tea has been finished, Molly sits next to Karma at the table and takes her hand.<p>

She still doesn't say anything, it's just to let her daughter know she's there. Molly will wait for her, Karma knows that. She'll wait until Karma's ready.

Ready?

Karma's not sure she'll ever be ready and that's really the whole fucking problem isn't it?

She'll never be ready to cut Liam loose, even as every day with him makes her realize what a colossal mistake being with him is.

She'll never be ready to face the shittiest parts of herself, the parts that would willingly hurt someone. The parts that would keep her oblivious to someone else's pain as long as she was happy.

She'll _never_ be ready to see Amy and Reagan together. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in this life.

Maybe not even in the next.

She'll never be ready for Amy. Whatever the _hell_ that means.

Karma tugs her phone out of her pocket and opens the picture of her and Amy. She sets it on the table, where Molly can see.

"I screwed up," Karma says softly. "I screwed it all up and I don't have the first clue how to fix it."

She runs a finger across the screen and it feels right to her. Detached. Shielded. Cut off.

"How did I not see it?" she asks. "How did I not see what I was doing to her? To us?"

Molly squeezes Karma's hand in her own. It kills her to see her only daughter like this.

But then again, Molly didn't need those tea leaves to see this day coming.

Karma picks up the picture of Reagan and Amy and puts it down on top of her phone. "I did _this_," she says. "The two of them… it's because of me. If I don't talk Amy into faking it, if I wasn't so oblivious… if I hadn't _let_ myself be so oblivious… " She taps the picture with her finger. "_This_ wouldn't be."

None of this would be.

And the one thing that _would_ be - her and Amy - is the one thing she really needs. But right now, it's the one thing that _isn't._

And Karma's not sure it ever will be again.

* * *

><p>She's perfect for Amy, Karma told Molly. She's funny. She's beautiful. She's a total dork, in all the best ways. And she loves Amy, anyone who's with them for five seconds can see it.<p>

Reagan's perfect.

And God, does Karma hate her.

She can do everything for Amy that I do, Karma said to her mother. And the one thing I _can't_.

And then she'd excused herself. Said she was going to rest for a while.

Big party tonight.

And, as she sits on the edge of her bed, staring at that picture, Karma wonders why would Amy settle for something as one-sided as their relationship has become? Why would she do that when she could have something so much more real?

Amy wouldn't. Amy _shouldn't._

And Karma shouldn't _want_ her to.

She _shouldn't. _

"If I was a better friend," Karma says, "If was the _best_ friend I always claim to be, I'd be happy for her."

She clutches the picture of Amy and Reagan between two fingers.

"I would be happy for Amy and wish her well, and try to bond with Reagan," she says. "After all, we've got at least one thing in common."

Karma stares at the picture. "If I was a better friend, I wouldn't be so insecure. I wouldn't worry that someday Amy will find someone she loves as much as she loves me," she says. "I would know that even if she does - even if she _has_ - she's still my Amy. She'll always be mine."

She looks at the picture one last time. The she slowly tears it, splitting Reagan and Amy apart.

So simple. So easy.

It _so_ won't go that way. Not for real.

"I'm _not _a better friend," she says, holding a piece of the picture in each hand and wishing, truly, that she was.

Karma really shouldn't be alone.

But she has a feeling she's going to end up that way.


	15. Chapter 14

**_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I didn't like the last chapter and I don't honestly know how I feel about this one either. This is all Reamy, present and past, with a little Lauren and Theo tossed in. _**

The words keep ringing in her ears, no matter how hard she tries not to hear them.

_Do you really think that's going to last?_

_You're temporary_

_You think I can't get you out? Just. Like. That?_

Her phone buzzes in her pocket - for like the tenth time in the last three minutes - but Reagan ignores it. She knows it's Amy and as much as she wants to talk to her, she can't. Not yet.

Not until she doesn't hear those words anymore.

She knows Karma was going for the kill. She was pissed. She was hurt. And it's not like Reagan was totally innocent. She took her own fair share of shots.

But Reagan knows every one of her words was true.

She just wishes she knew Karma's _weren't_.

Her phone buzzes again and she fishes it out of her pocket. It's a text, from Lauren.

_Lolo: How bad was it?_

Reagan ghosts her thumb across the keypad, not sure if she should answer and not sure _what_ to say even if she does. She finally settles on something approaching honesty.

_Reagan: About what you'd expect. _

She knows with Lauren she could throw Karma under the bus. Throw her under, run her over, back up, do it again.

But Reagan won't do it. She won't win like that.

And she really has to stop thinking of it as winning. Amy's not a prize. She's not some stupid stuffed bear in a crane machine.

She has to stop thinking of it as winning.

Especially when what she's really worried about is losing.

_Lolo: Karma called Amy. Said they needed to talk. She left her five voicemails and every one got a little worse._

There's a pause and then another buzz.

_Lolo: What did say to her? She called you vicious and territorial. _

Reagan can't say she's surprised. She knows enough about Karma to know that for all her planning and scheming, she's impulsive when she's hurt.

_If I was Amy, I'd never tell you anything again._

Yeah, that one might have stung.

_Lolo: Amy wants to know where you are. She says you're not answering her texts or calls._

Reagan leans back into the swing and drags her feet across the ground. She looks down the hill and she can almost make out the house she grew up in.

Her mom still lives down there. Two streets over from their old place. A nice split-level she shares with her new husband and Reagan's two step-siblings she's never met.

You can't choose your family.

She glances down at the phone.

Or, she thinks, maybe you _can_.

_Reagan: Tell her she knows where I am._

The response comes in less than ten seconds.

_Lolo: She says we'll be there in twenty. And to get her a bacon and a jelly and WTF does that mean?_

Reagan smiles as she hops off the swing and starts the walk up to Planter's.

* * *

><p>It was their third date. That was when it became real for Reagan.<p>

Their _second_ date had been all Amy. During one of their marathon phone calls - which seemingly had become even longer after date number one - Reagan had mentioned that her father used to take her to the zoo twice a month. But, since she'd moved out, they just hadn't been able to make it.

Two days later, Amy surprised her with a pair of day passes and tickets to the almost always sold-out butterfly garden tour.

On their way out of the zoo, as Amy gushed about the pair of butterflies that had landed on her shoulders, Reagan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She pulled the younger girl to her, dropping a gentle kiss on her cheek before rubbing their noses together.

"Best. Date. Ever." she whispered into Amy's lips as she gave her a quick peck.

Both girls had a feeling that description might be getting used a lot.

But it was their third date - or _after _the date, if you were going to be technical - that Reagan remembered.

"There's this all ages club right on the outskirts of Austin," Reagan explained to Amy over the phone. "And they want me to DJ there a couple times next month. And I know I should take any job that comes along, but…I'm picky." She paused, wishing Amy could see the smirk on her face. "Well,I'm picky at least when it comes to work. Dates… eh… not so much."

A quick 'bite me' and five minutes later - which Reagan had come to realize was about the length of time Amy would always _pretend_ to put up a fight - Amy caved in and agreed to go with her.

"It'll be fun," Reagan said. "Just remember to dress for a night out on the town, Shrimps."

Amy called Shane for fashion advice. He took her shopping, helped her find the perfect outfit, assuring her that it wasn't possible for her jeans to be _too tight_ or her top to be _too low_.

As Amy walked out of the house, Reagan could tell she was a little nervous about her new look - a pair of 'oh my God, how did you get into those' skinny jeans and a top so low cut Reagan could… well… she _couldn't _really do much.

Not with the staring. And the staring.

And did she mention the staring?

And the only thing going through Reagan's mind as she pinned Amy against Lightning and kissed her until they were both breathless?

She'd have to send Shane a thank you note.

Unlike Amy's outfit, the club sucked. It was dirty, and not in the good 'oh look, there's people getting a little extra freaky on the dancefloor' way. The bartenders were clueless, which was a considerable problem in an all ages club where their main job was to squirt watered down Coke into little plastic cups. And the DJ - someone Reagan didn't recognize - didn't seem to know or care about keeping people moving. The music was awful, the atmosphere worse.

And then there were the boys.

It didn't take long, maybe five minutes, before Amy and Reagan started drawing some stares. Holding hands, dancing together, the occasional quick kiss - it was all catnip for little pervs, like leaving a fresh baked doughnut right outside Amy's bedroom door.

Reagan wasn't surprised. She'd been stared at plenty with Shelby and even a little bit with Anna. But Amy was hotter than either of them and in _that_ outfit?

Who _wouldn't _stare?

Once it was clear that the two of them were on a date - with _each other_ - the pervs and jackoffs came out of the woodwork.

Over the half hour they were in the club, Reagan guessed at least a half dozen little pimply-faced wannabes hit on each of them. A few more didn't bother with hitting on them.

They just asked if they could watch.

After Reagan had to physically restrain Amy from punching one of the pre-pubescent Liam Bookers-in-training, both girls decided a retreat to Planter's was in order. A doughnut - or two for Amy - a milkshake, and some stargazing sounded about right.

Of course, stopping by their park - and Reagan had already taken to calling it that in her mind - and making out in the moonlight didn't sound too bad either.

* * *

><p>Reagan's leaning against Lightning with a cup of coffee in her hand and a bag of doughnuts on the hood when Amy, Lauren, and Theo pull up.<p>

Lauren is out of the car first, which doesn't surprise Reagan. She's never seen the little blonde exit a vehicle at anything less than MACH 2. She storms across the parking lot, slamming Reagan into a hug and nearly spilling the older girl's coffee.

"Hello to you too, Lolo," Reagan says, switching the coffee to her other hand so she can wrap an arm around the tiny blonde. She nods at Theo over the top of Lauren's head, but consciously avoids looking at Amy. "I take it you and tall, dark, and charming over there had a good talk?"

Lauren leans back and nods. "He was surprisingly OK with it," she says quietly. "Though I did catch him Squirkling 'intersex' on his phone afterward."

Reagan smiles and squeezes Lauren tightly. "Hey Theo," she says. "Glad to hear you're not a dick. Good job." She stutters slightly as Lauren slugs her in the arm. "But just so you know… if you hurt her, I'm going to have to kill you."

"Hey!" says Amy. "I'm the actual sister here. I'm the one who should be threatening him."

Reagan nods but still doesn't look at her. She _can't_. Not with Karma's threats still running through her brain. "You probably are, Shrimps. But let's face it… the only things scared of you are doughnuts, bacon, and Liam."

Lauren snorts into Reagan's shoulder. "Speaking of Liam," she says, stepping back out of the older girl's arms.

"Do we _have_ to?" Amy asks.

Lauren turns and glares at Amy. "Are you going to tell her or am I?"

Reagan takes a sip of her coffee and drums her fingers on the side of the cup. "Tell me what?"

Amy takes one tentative step toward Reagan and then just… hovers there… like she's not sure if she's allowed to come any closer. "Apparently Karma showed Liam a picture of you," she says. "And he recognized you from… the party."

"Oh," Reagan says. And she really doesn't know what else to say.

She doesn't know what else to think. Or to do. She doesn't know much of anything at this point.

The bubble's officially burst.

"He's been texting Amy every five minutes ever since," Lauren says. "Shit like 'what were you thinking' and 'do you want her to find out' and 'why didn't you warn me'."

Reagan nods, mostly for lack of anything else to do, and then inclines her head towards Theo and arches one eyebrow, hoping either Lauren or Amy will pick up on her super-secret code.

"He knows everything," Lauren says and shoots Theo a _very _loaded look. "Including where his loyalties lie."

"I won't say a word," Theo says, as he gives Reagan what she assumes is meant to be a sympathetic look. "Liam's a dick anyway. How big a douche do you have to be to go after someone you think is in a relationship?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Reagan can see Amy smile. "I know there was a reason I liked you," the blonde says to Theo. "Lauren, you should keep this one around."

"I'll consider it," Lauren says. "But back to Liam…"

"Fuck him," Reagan says.

"Amy already did," Theo chimes in. "That's the problem."

All three girls turn on him at once.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I was trying to lighten the mood?"

It's Amy who lets him off the hook. "It's OK," she says. "Believe me, whenever I think of sex with Booker, I laugh, so…" She glances back at Reagan and does a little hop back and forth in place. "But I'm with Rea. Let Liam get pissy and whine about how much of a mess this makes _his_ life. That's what he does best anyway."

"OK," Lauren shrugs, but Reagan can tell she doesn't like it. Lauren doesn't like anything that puts things off, that kicks the can down the road.

Because somehow? The can always ends up right back on your doorstep.

Lauren glances between Amy and Reagan, sensing the tension.

It's hard to miss. It's like there's a wall, thirty some odd feet of brick and cement, between them.

"So," she says, "this is the legendary Planter's?"

"Yup," Reagan says. "Home to the best doughnuts in all of Austin."

"And the best burger ever," Amy adds. "It's better than sex," she says. "At least… you know… sex with Booker."

Lauren rolls her eyes. "You are such a dork," she says, "and if you keep talking about… _that_… I'm going to lose my appetite." She grabs Theo's hand and drags him toward the door. "Come on 'mood lightener', I feel like some unnecessary carbs and grease, And you're buying."

She rests one hand on Reagan's arm as she passes, squeezes it lightly.

It will all be OK, her eyes say.

The fuck it will.

But, Reagan thinks, it's the thought that counts.

Amy watches as they disappear into Planter's. She shuffles back and forth in her spot, scuffing a sneaker against the dirt.

Reagan leans against Lightning and nods to the bag on the hood. "I got you doughnuts,' she says. "One bacon, one jelly, as requested."

Amy nods. "Thanks," she says, but she doesn't move.

Reagan shakes her head. She wanted to keep some kind of distance. She wanted to pull back a little.

She didn't want Karma's words singing in her head every time she looked Amy.

She didn't want to hold her, kiss her, _love _her. And hear Karma… or Shelby…. the whole time.

But just having Amy there, just a few feet away, and not being able to look at her or touch her or just _be_ with her…

Reagan wonders how she thought, even for a minute, that she could handle that.

"Well," she says, breaking the thirty seconds or so of silence, and finally looking at Amy. Iif you want them, you better come kiss me or I'm just going to have to-"

Her words are cut off by Amy's lips crashing onto hers and this time she _does_ drop the coffee, but that just frees up her hands to cup Amy's cheeks as the blonde deepens the kiss.

Amy presses forward, pinning Reagan against the hood, and she lets her hands slide up under the sides of Reagan's shirt because all she wants in that moment is contact. She needs to feel Reagan and for Reagan to feel her.

It's an odd, desperate kind of idea. Like she hopes the touch of their skin will soothe the wounds, will ease the pain.

It's an odd, desperate kind of idea.

But it _works_.

Reagan breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against Amy's. "Hey, Shrimps."

Amy's grip on Reagan's sides tightens, as if she's worried her girlfriend might run off. "I'm sorry," she says.

Reagan tips her head back so she can see Amy's face. "Sorry? For what? Making me spill my coffee? Come on, Shrimps. You know Jana can make a mean doughnut, but that coffee's like sludge."

"Not the coffee," Amy says. "Karma. I'm sorry for Karma."

Reagan lets her hands trail down Amy's body, finally linking them together behind the younger girl's back. "Lolo said she left you some messages. Did she tell you what we talked about?"

Amy shakes her head. "Just that she and I should talk." Her eyes drop and she's looking down at the ground, at Lightning's tires, at anything and everything that isn't Reagan.

"Amy?" Reagan brings one hand back around, slowly lifting Amy's chin so that they're staring into each other's eyes. "You're a lousy liar, Shrimps. And I know she said I was mean, but if there's something else…"

Amy frowns. "You'll get mad," she says.

"Is that a problem for you?" Reagan asks. "If I get mad at Karma?"

Amy is shaking her head before Reagan even finishes the question. "No," she says. "I don't care if you're mad at her." She frowns again. "_I'm _mad at her."

"What did she say?"

"She said she wasn't going to let you hurt me," Amy says, quietly. "She said you were mean and vicious to her. And if that's the kind of person you really are…"

"Then I'll hurt you in the end," Reagan finishes. "She blamed me for you shutting her out, didn't she?"

Amy nods. "'I'm so sorry, Rea. _This_ is why I didn't tell her. Because _this_ is what comes from doing that. All this drama and shit and you're older and you don't need this crap and -"

And this time it's Amy who's cut off by a kiss. It's quicker and more deliberate than the other one, but it accomplishes its goal nonetheless.

"You're right," Reagan says as she pulls back. "I don't need the drama." Amy nods, sadly, but Reagan just pulls her closer. "What I _do _need is that little blonde ball of crazy in there, and her giant of a boyfriend, and your crazy but fashion-brilliant GBF. And I _need _your mom, though not in the dirty way, and Bruce - even _more_ not in the dirty way."

Amy smiles and wraps her arms around Reagan's neck. "And?"

"And?" Reagan repeats. "Oh. Yeah. Almost forgot." She pecks Amy's lips and then slips from the blonde's grasp, making a break for their park. "I need Jana too. Definitely need the doughnut lady."

"Reagan…"

She arches an eyebrow and bites her bottom lip - the pair of moves she's come to call 'The Amy' - "If you think I forgot someone, Shrimps," Reagan says as she crosses the lot. "Then you better come remind me."

Reagan squeals as Amy starts running after her, knowing full well she could outrun her.

But she really doesn't want to.

* * *

><p>The night of their first date, Amy was on the swing, but for date number three, Reagan took the spot, cradling Amy from behind, her arms wrapped around the blonde's waist, lips working against the spot right behind Amy's ear, the one that always raises goosebumps on Amy's skin.<p>

Reagan's hands slipped just beneath the hem of Amy's blouse, fingers grazing lightly against the skin of the her stomach. Her nails scratched lightly across Amy's abs, dipping briefly into her navel.

Amy couldn't help but let out a little moan. Everything with Reagan was new and different and God, did it all feel so _good_.

"Fuck," Amy hissed as Reagan's fingers repeated their travels along the other side.

Reagan paused, stilling her hands against Amy's skin. "Too fast? she whispered. She knew Amy had never gone even this far with a girl and as much as she wanted her, Reagan wasn't going to rush into anything. She didn't want to risk this.

Amy, on the other hand, was apparently not so risk adverse.

"I'll tell you when it's too fast," she said, spinning around and surprising Reagan by capturing the older girl's bottom lip between her own and sucking on it gently. All the while, she was guiding Reagan's hands around to her back and under her shirt.

"Shrimps?" Even Reagan could hear the moan in her voice as Amy let go of her lip and moved to placing a string of kisses along the older girl's jawline.

Amy didn't respond with words. Instead, she reached back and took ahold of one of Reagan's hands, steering it out from under her shirt.

And right onto her ass.

Reagan didn't want to moan again, really she didn't. She felt like one of those horny little boys from the club, but she couldn't help it. She slid her hand into the back pocket of Amy's jeans - and God, were they tight - and found the blonde's lips with her own.

If it was like this when they were still dressed and not even touching any of the _good_ stuff, Reagan wasn't sure she could handle if they ever went further.

But she definitely wanted to find out.

Amy slid forward, practically climbing into Reagan's lap and she couldn't hold back a moan of her own as Reagan slid her tongue into her mouth.

And all Amy could think was how much she didn't want to stop. How badly she wanted to drag Reagan back to her truck, to bury her face in the older girl's neck while Reagan frantically drove them back to her apartment.

Fuck that. That would take too long. There was grass here. Grass was good.

Amy broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against Reagan's, trying to bring herself back under control.

She'd let her hormones and desires overwhelm her before.

Granted, _that _desire was to hurt Karma, but Amy still wasn't going to let it happen again.

Fucking Liam hadn't meant a thing.

This? This meant _everything_.

Reagan collected herself first. "We OK here, Shrimps?" She started to move her hand from Amy's pocket, but stopped when the blonde grabbed her wrist.

Amy let out a long breath. "This _has_ to be killing you," she said.

Reagan smirked. "Grabbing your ass?" she asked. "Yup. Definitely killing me. Worst moment of my life, I tell ya."

Amy tipped her head back and glared at her. "That's not what I meant," she said. She pulled Reagan's other hand out from under her shirt and slid it down next to the other one, using her own palm to press Reagan's hand hard against her jeans.

Reagan stifled a moan - mostly - but not quite enough to _not _bring a smirk to Amy's face.

"I _meant_," Amy said, "that doing all this, but stopping, has got to be rough." She swiveled her hips just slightly, causing Reagan's hands to shift in a way that made them both breathe a little deeper. "This is all new to me," she said. "And every new thing, I can't imagine anything could be better."

"I _can_," Reagan said. And she could. "And I have been," she said. "Frequently."

"Really?" Amy asked. A blush crept up her cheeks and her stomach did flips.

Reagan nodded. "I spilled a martini on a woman yesterday," she said. "Because I was too busy thinking about this spot," she pressed a quick kiss to the base of Amy's neck.

"Just that one?"

Reagan rested her head on Amy's shoulder. "Shrimps, if I start giving you a guided tour of all your spots that I've been thinking about, we're either never leaving this park or getting arrested for indecent exposure." She could feel Amy chuckle. "And that would totally mess up my plans for date number four."

Amy scooted herself forward - mentally thanking Shane for the 'can't be too tight' jeans and thanking science for the concept of friction - and wrapped her arms around Reagan sliding her hands sliding down the older girl's back. "Date number four? Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you DJ?"

"Yup," said Reagan, as she squeezed with both of her hands at the same time and a guttural moan rolled out of Amy totally out of her control. "And with good reason."

Amy stood suddenly, capturing both of Reagan's hands as they slid away. She tugged the older girl off the swing and over to the grassier area. She laid down, staring up at Reagan.

"Shrimps?"

"Get down here," Amy said, the huskiness of her voice surprising her almost as much as it did Reagan. "Get down here or I'll have to come get you."

Reagan was sorely tempted to see what _exactly_ that meant, but she resisted and made to lie down next to Amy. The younger girl reached out and gripped both her wrists, shaking her head. "Not _there_," she said, tipping her head at the spot _next _to her. "_Here_."

Amy pulled Reagan down on top of her, aligning their bodies together. She slipped one leg between Reagan's and - almost involuntarily - pressed up, against the older girl.

Reagan had to close her eyes and count to ten.

Who was she kidding?

Counting to one hundred wouldn't have helped.

"Looks like _I've_ got some reason to be cocky too." Amy said with a grin.

"You have _no idea_," Reagan said, keeping her eyes shut. If she looked at Amy right that moment, she was pretty sure what little willpower she had might well die on the spot.

Amy ran her hands down Reagan's back, stopping just above the waistline of her jeans, letting her fingers brush against the small strip of skin peeking out from under Reagan's top.

"Reagan?"

"Yeah, Shrimps?"

Reagan was immeasurably proud of herself for getting that much out.

"You know I've never done… any of this before, right?" Reagan nodded, her hair falling down around her face, ticking Amy's nose. "So, don't laugh when I ask this, OK?"

Reagan planted both hands onto the ground on either side of Amy, pushing herself up so she could see the younger girl's face. "You're doing fine, Amy," she said, knowing exactly what the blonde was going to ask. "_More_ than fine. Trust me."

"I do," Amy said softly, and she surprised herself with how much she meant it. "It's just… I like you. I _really_ like you."

And those words should really not have turned Reagan on even more.

"You like me, huh?" Reagan lowered herself down onto her elbows. She tried to keep her tone light, tried to make it all into more fun and flirting, but the feel of Amy's thigh pressing between her legs was making her feel anything but light. "_All_ of me? Or are there particular bits you're fond of?"

Amy's hands slid down Reagan's back again, but this time they didn't stop at her waist. "I _do _like your ass," Amy said, squeezing gently and smirking at the way Reagan's eyes clouded at the contact. "The night of our first date, I almost couldn't stop staring at it."

"Really?" Reagan squeaked out and Amy wasn't sure if was arousal or a little bit of a blush that was coloring the other girl's cheeks.

"Yeah," she said. "Definitely your ass. And your lips." Amy leaned up and ghosted her lips over Reagan's, lingering just long enough to let her tongue swipe across Reagan's bottom lip.

Reagan's balance faltered slightly as a shudder ran through her. "Amy?"

"Yeah, Rea?"

"You need to stop now."

Amy cocked her head to the side, regarding the older girl with a look of feigned confusion. "But why?"

Reagan dropped to the ground next to Amy, grabbing both her arms in the process, and pulled the younger girl on top of her.

"Because if you don't stop," Reagan said, "I won't be _able_ to stop." She brought her hand up and cupped Amy's cheek. "And I _really_ like you too," she said. "And - God, help me - being with you like _that_ isn't worth risking everything else this could be."

Amy reached up and caught the hand Reagan had pressed against her face. She closed her eyes and leaned into the contact.

If she had known this was what it was like, what it _could_ be like…

"Shrimps?"

"You know what else I like?" Amy asked, not opening her eyes. "I like how it seems as if your hand was meant to hold mine," she said. "Like they fit perfectly together."

Reagan laced her fingers through Amy's. "They do," she said softly.

Amy continued. "And I like how every time we kiss, I can taste the coffee you've been chugging all day."

Reagan rested her free hand on the blonde's hip, softly squeezing her fingers into Amy's flesh. "Anything else?"

Amy nodded. "The way my heart races when you touch me," she said. "Like when you rest your hand on my thigh when you're driving and I think I might pass out cause the damn thing's pounding so hard in my chest."

Reagan knew the feeling.

"But there's this one thing," Amy said, "this one thing I like more than the others." She opened her eyes and stared down at Reagan. "I like that I can tell you all this," she said. "I can tell you all this and I _know_ that I'm not alone in it. That even when you go, even when you drop me at home and leave…"

"I'm never far," Reagan said, pressing the joined hands to Amy's chest.

"I know," Amy said. She laid down on Reagan, resting her head on the older girl's chest. And she could hear Reagan's heart beating sounding so much like the drumming of her pulse within her own ears.

"I know."

* * *

><p>Amy catches her at the swings.<p>

Reagan's already taken up her usual spot on one of them and Amy sits on the other, holding out a hand, which Reagan takes.

"Amy…"

The blonde shakes her head. "I don't want to know," she says. "I know you're not going to tell me what Karma said to you, because you… just _wouldn't_. But I don't want to know what you said either."

Reagan stares straight ahead, her eyes drifting down the hill over and over again.

"But I said - "

Amy cuts her off. "It doesn't matter," she says. "Because I know whatever you said was probably true. And even if it wasn't…"

Amy slips off the swing and steps away. She's not sure exactly how to say it and she wants to make it right.

"Even if it wasn't," she says. "It doesn't matter. Partly because you were fighting. For _me_." Amy looks at the ground. "And no one has ever done that before."

Reagan can't help but wonder how anyone could _not_ love this girl. How could anyone have ever made her feel like she wasn't the _only_ choice?

How anyone could have ever made Amy feel like there even was a choice when it came to loving her is totally beyond Reagan.

"But it's not just that," Amy says. Reagan can tell she's working up to something so she lets her talk at her own pace. "You shouldn't have been there," she says. "_I _should have. I should be the one dealing with this. I was the one who kept the secret. I was the one who shut her out and I'm not saying I didn't have good reason but it was still _me, _and you shouldn't-"

The words all come out in a rush and that rush comes to an abrupt halt as Reagan wraps Amy up in her arms. The younger girl buries her face in the crook of Reagan's neck and silently sobs. Reagan holds her until the tears subside and then she leads her back to the swings, settling Amy on one and kneeling before her.

"You and Karma have to deal with this shit, eventually," Reagan says, holding Amy's hands in her lap. "But you don't have to do it alone, Shrimps." She brings one hand up and tucks a lock of Amy's hair behind her ear. "You never have to do anything alone. You've got your mom. And Lolo. And Shane and, apparently, Theo."

Amy smiles. "He's a good guy," she says. "And he treats her well. He's like her own little cop, always there to 'serve and protect'."

"Lolo should always be protected," Reagan says. "And so should you." She drops to both knees, taking Amy into her arms. "And that's _my _job, now. And if that means taking some of Karma's crap… so be it."

She kisses Amy, a kiss without any other intent, just for them.

And in the silence, Reagan notices, she doesn't hear Karma's words anymore.

And that's the only thought she spares Karma. Just that one.

Karma will be there. Lauren and Theo and Shane and Liam and all that shit will be there. And she and Amy will deal with it.

And Reagan knows that Karma has a hold on Amy that may never be broken and she doesn't know if she would even want it to be. She knows Amy is _hers_ and in ways she will never be Karma's. But Reagan knows that doesn't mean she won't have to share. And she's OK with that, as long as Amy is.

But that's for later. Not now. Right now? This moment?

This, Reagan thinks, is just for them.

_Just for me. _


	16. Chapter 15

_**A/N: Just to clear up any confusion: no, this isn't done, yet. I guess the ending of the last chapter threw some people. So, here's ther next one with fetus Karmy and some hints at upcoming angst. Hope you like it!**_

Amy is nine the first time Karma makes her cry.

It wasn't intentional, Amy knows. Even at nine, she realizes one very important truth about her best friend - Karma never _means_ to hurt anyone.

Which, of course, doesn't make anything she does hurt any less.

Karma arrives at the Raudenfeld front door, her tiny pink suitcase in tow. She's run away from home which, to anyone who knows Karma - even the nine year old version of her - isn't much of a surprise.

It's more of a surprise that this is the first time she's done it.

The suitcase is crammed full, too full really, with everything Karma thinks she will truly need if she never returns home, which is her plan. Even at nine, Karma _always_ has a plan, always written out, this time on a tiny sheet of Hello Kitty stationairy her Gam-Gam got her for her eighth birthday.

As Karma schemes go, this one is fairly straight forward.

She'll live with Amy until they graduate high school. There's an empty bedroom across the hall and it's not like anyone will be using that, right?

They'll go to college together - Karma will let Amy choose, unless she picks one of those little tiny schools no one has ever heard of, and and then all bets are off - and after they graduate, they'll move to NYC or Paris, or some other exotic city she hasn't learned about in school yet.

Then they'll settle down, in cute little houses next door to each other. They'll marry brothers - Karma will, of course, take the older, more handsome one - and they'll have exactly five kids between them.

The only unsettled part of the plan? Who will have how many of those kids?

She's leaning towards four for Amy and one for her.

Amy's an only child. Karma has Zen.

And since he's the reason she's currently standing on Amy's front step, Karma thinks maybe one will be enough for her.

So, in the suitcase, she's got everything she can imagine needing. Her clothes - the ones that don't scream 'my parents are new age whackadoos with a juice truck and some oddly smelling brownies' (so, not an extensive wardrobe) - her box of trinkets and play jewlerey from her Gam-Gam, her magazines - fashion, entertainment, and music, naturally - half a dozen CDs, and her journal.

Karma has resigned herself to never seeing the rest of her worldly possessions, such as they are, again.

But, she reasons, that's a small price to pay for being somewhere she will be loved, somewhere she will be wanted, somewhere, she thinks, where she will be appreciated.

Farrah opens the front door and stares down at her.

"Oh, Karma," she says. "_What a surprise."_

At nine, Karma doesn't yet have enough experience with sarcasm - even with Amy as her best friend - to pick up on the eye roll or the tone.

She also doesn't know that Farrah's actually been expecting her for the last twenty minutes, ever since Molly called.

"She left a note," Molly said, sounding far more excited, intrigued - maybe even _proud? _- about her daughter wandering off that Farrah - or most reasonable people - would have expected.

Molly read the note to Farrah in the way some parents might recite their child's report card.

_To whom it may concern,_

(such good manners and proper grammar, Molly points out)

_I have left. Do not try to find me. You will never figure out where I have gone._

(Farrah was glad, at that moment, that eye rolls aren't visible over phone lines)

_I will not stay where I am not wanted._

(Farrah wondered if it was possible for one to roll one's eyes hard enough that they actually get stuck)

_Good-bye,_

_Karma_

_P.S. Please wish Zen a happy birthday for me_

That last line brought Molly to tears. "She's just so thoughtful," Karma's mother said. "Even in her pain, she's always thinking of others."

Years later, after Amy returns home early from a party at Shane's house with a bruised and bloody hand, a seriously pissed off girlfriend, and a sobbing Lauren, Farrah will recall this conversation.

And she'll wonder what how so much can change in just a few years.

Of course, Karma's claims aside, both women _knew _where the little girl was going. So, when the knock had finally come, Farrah hadn't been surprised.

Karma draws herself up to her full height, putting on a brave face, refusing to let her best friend's mother see her looking a mess.

"Hello, Mrs. Raudenfeld," the young girls says. Her try at a formal, grown-up tone comes across as more of a slightly stilted bad British accent, but Farrah is used to Karma's affectations, so she just rolls with it.

She nods at the suitcase behind Karma. "Going somewhere, sweetie?"

"Yes," Karma replies immediately and then, suddenly she realizes her plan - as brilliant as it may be - has one potentially fatal flaw.

Farrah.

Nine-year-old Karma may not recognize sarcasm, but she _does_ know when she's not someone's favorite person.

And she's _never_ been Farrah's favorite. And even at nine, Karma's pretty sure she never will be.

"I'm going… somewhere," Karma says. She's worried, but not horribly so. Amy will let her stay and Amy will convince Farrah. "I can't tell you where, though," Karma rolls on, whispering conspiratorially. "You might tell Molly and Lucas."

Karma heard a girl in a movie call her parents by their first names. She tried it out for a few weeks, but it didn't stick. Now, she just uses them when she's mad, when her parents have disappointed her.

"Got it," Farrah says, nodding. "Well, I think Amy is up in her room if you wanted to say good-bye before you head off… somewhere."

Karma nods her thanks - always polite, even in her pain - and heads for the stairs, still trying to drag the little pink case behind her.

"You can leave that there, Karma," Farrah says. "I'll keep an eye on it."

"Thank you," Karma says, but the words are already fading as she dashes up the stairs and through her best friend's bedroom door. Amy is sitting on the edge of the bed, just waiting.

"Amy," Karma says, slightly winded from the stairs. "I ran away from home."

Amy regards her for a moment.

In the years to come, Karma will recognize that look. She will - in fact - call it _The Look._

As in, '_you're giving me The Look again.'_

Or, '_Faking blindness is a brilliant plan and stop giving me The Look_.'

Or, eventually, '_Liam Booker will love me and we will have little Bookers and you'll be Aunt Amy and will you stop giving me The Fucking Look!'_

And, in the years to come, Amy will realize that _The Look_ is usually followed by a shrug - and sometimes a resigned sigh - both from her. And then some obviously ridiculous scheme that will end with one (usually Amy) or both of them in significant trouble and Karma giving Amy her own version of _The Look_:

A sheepish grin. A tilt of the head. A wouldn't-it-have-been-better-to-think-of-this-first apology.

Amy just shrugs.

"My mom said you could stay the night," Amy says. "And she said we could go get ice cream after dinner, but only if you call your parents to tell them you're OK."

Karma glances around behind her, wondering if Farrah has slipped in and she missed it.

"She said that? _When_?"

"A few minutes ago, Amy says." "Right after your mom called. She found your note." Amy hops off the bed and wraps her best friend in a hug. "What happened?"

Karma frowns. "Zen," she says simply, as if that explains it all. And it sort of does. "He won't let me come to his birthday party. It's _boys_ only."

Amy stays silent and continues to hug Karma tightly. Mostly because she loves her best friend.

But, also, it conveniently hides rolling eyes.

"And then when I got mad," Karma says, "he started yelling at me. He said I would ruin the party."

Amy still says nothing and now it's because she knows where this is going. The same place it always goes when Karma and Zen fight.

"And then he said that he _deserved_ a special party because Molly and Lucas _chose _him."

Amy can recite it in her head, word for word.

_Of all the babies in all the world, they picked me. Most parents never get to pick the kid they want. But ours did._

_Once._

Amy was only seven when she concluded - and rightly so - that Zen was a massive dick.

"I'm sorry, Karma," she says. "But it was nice of you to wish him a happy birthday even after he was mean."

Karma rests her head on Amy's shoulder. "He's still my brother," she says. "Even if he is a buttface."

Amy leans back, an evil glint in her eye. "_You're_ a buttface," she says. And then she suddenly dashes back to the bed, diving onto it. "So whatcha wanna do, _buttface?"_

And that sets Karma off, as Amy knew it would. There's TV or a dance party, or figuring out the floor plans of their future matching houses, or planning how to embarrass Zen at school on Monday or…

Or Karma plops down on the bed next to Amy and squeezes her tight. "I love you, you know."

Amy nods and Karma smiles.

Maybe her parents didn't choose her. But Amy did.

And Karma's pretty sure - no, she's _positive_ - that's all that will ever matter to her.

* * *

><p>Amy can't bring herself to knock.<p>

To hell with knocking. She can't bring herself to get out of the truck and walk to the door.

And sure, there's been plenty of times over the last couple of months when she couldn't bring herself to get out of Lightning, but most of those times involved Reagan's lips on hers and hands roaming a bit and all sorts of things that most definitely should _not_ happen in the Ashcroft's driveway.

So, she can't bring herself to knock. And she sits in the passenger seat, staring at the Ashcroft's front door like it's the Hellmouth itself, about to open up and unleash all manner of death, destruction, and pain.

Maybe, she thinks, I should stop being so over-dramatic.

Or maybe she should just stop binge watching _Buffy_ when she's fighting with Karma.

And she wonders, then, if _they're_ even fighting. After all, it wasn't Amy who was vicious and mean. It wasn't Amy who was territorial.

In Karma's mind - a place Amy is sometimes frightened to admit that she knows as well as she does - it's Reagan who's the enemy.

Yeah, she thinks. That'll last about five minutes. Right up to the point where Amy doesn't agree that Reagan is Satan and must be cast out of their lives immediately.

Is it any wonder she can't knock?

Reagan regards her girlfriend from behind the wheel and resists the urge to ask her - for at least the twentieth time - if she's sure about this. She knows Amy feels the need to talk to Karma, the need to try and work it all out.

But some things, Reagan knows, can't be worked out in an afternoon.

Or at all.

"You don't actually have to do this, _now_, you know," Reagan says, breaking the silence. "I know she said you two have to talk, but there's nothing that says you have to do it _now_."

Maybe, Reagan thinks, later would be better.

Give Karma some time to cool off. Some time to forget.

_I'd never tell you anything again_

OK, so maybe forgetting is off the table.

"Maybe," Reagan says," you'd be better off if you just gave her a little space. A little time to, you know, _process_. She's had a lot dumped on her in the last twenty-four hours."

Amy shakes her head, still staring at the door. "Karma's like wine," she says. "You have to let her age just right. Too little time… and you end up in aborted threesomes and getting labelled a sex addict. Too much time, you end up faking being a fake lesbian."

Reagan arches an eyebrow that Amy can practically _hear_ creeping up.

"It's a tricky process," she says. "Like the three little bears and their porridge. You've got to get it just right."

Reagan shakes her head. Being Karma's friend sounds like more work than it's worth.

"It's not as bad as it sounds." Amy says, like she can read Reagan's mind. "Yeah, it can be exhausting. And aggravating. And frustrating." She laughs. "OK, maybe it is as bad as it sounds, _sometimes_."

"But you're still going to go in there and talk to her, aren't you?"

Amy glances at her quickly and then turns back to the front door.

"I was ten," she says, "the first time I walked in without knocking. I just strolled in, walked right past Molly and Lucas, flipped off Zen as I went up the stairs. Walked into her room and plopped down on the bed."

Reagan smiles at the image of ten-year-old Amy giving Zen the finger.

"Thing was," Amy says. "Karma had forgotten to mention she wasn't going to be home. She was visiting her Gam-Gam. So, when she did get home, she found me curled up on her bed, with one of her stupid teenie-bopper magazines under my face." Amy smiles lightly at the memory. "I had drooled all over a picture of Lance Bass. Karma thought it meant I had a crush on him."

Reagan can't help but laugh. "Gaydar at an early age, Shrimps."

Amy rolls her eyes. "I never liked him," she says. "Or any of them. Karma liked Joey Fatone." A smirk steals across the blonde's face. "I used to call him Joey Fat-One just to piss her off."

Back then, Amy had to listen to an entire Justin Timberlake CD to get Karma to forgive her.

She doesn't expect it to be that easy this time.

"Molly offered to give me a key once," Amy says. "I turned her down. _That_ would have been weird."

Yeah, she thinks, a _key_ would've been weird.

Everything else? Perfectly normal.

Like sitting here, in the driveway, unable to move, unable to go knock on a door she's banged on a thousand times in her life.

When, Amy wonders, did things get _this_ weird?

_Let's be lesbians!_

Oh, yeah.

"You know, Shrimps… talking to her would be a lot easier if you actually, you know, got out of the truck?"

Amy nods, but doesn't move. Her eyes catch sight of the dashboard, of the suddenly empty spot where their picture used to be. "Hey," she says. "What happened to our picture?"

"What?" Reagan says. "Oh, _that_. I was loading up some equipment in here the other night and I tore it with a speaker. No biggie. I'll just print another one."

Amy nods. It's a perfectly reasonable explanation.

One that would ring so much truer if she hadn't seen the picture yesterday.

Before Karma.

* * *

><p>Farrah stares at Karma, and sighs. This, she thinks, is what happens with permissive parents.<p>

"Karma, your parents are downstairs. They let you stay the night, but now they want you to come home."

Karma shakes her head, and red curls spark all over. In her haste to escape Zen and his meanness, she forgot to pack her hairbrush, and none of Amy's are tough enough to make it through the jungle that is nine-year-old Karma's hair.

"Karma, sweetie," Farrah says, trying to maintain her patience. "They're not _asking_ you to come home. They're tell…" she trails off as her eyes land on Karma's arm. "Karma, what's that around your wrist?"

"A belt," Karma answers. Farrah takes a moment to recognize it's the simplest answer the girl's ever given her.

She waits a moment more to see if there's going to be any more explanation and when none comes… "And why is it looped around Amy's bed-post?"

"I'm a bed-hugger," Karma says, as if that simply answers that.

Farrah turns to Amy. It's not the first time she's needed her daughter's help in translating Karma-ese. "Amy?"

"We saw a documentary in science," Amy says, her eyes lighting up at the d-word. "There were these people that were protesting trees getting cut down and they used chains to tie themselves to the trees. They were called -"

"Tree huggers," Farrah says. "Got it." She looks at Karma, considering her options. "So, what's the plan, Karma? You're just going to belt yourself to Amy's bed until your parents leave?"

Karma nods. Silence, she's decided is more 'protest'-appropriate.

"OK, then," Farrah says. "I'm going to go talk to your parents. Amy? If you could?" She nods in Karma's direction and Amy understands.

Talk some sense into your friend. Get her to stop being so ridiculous.

It's not the first time someone's asked that of Amy. And, even at nine, she knows it won't be the last.

Once Farrah is out of the room, Amy kneels down in front of Karma, poking her in the leg.

"You know this is kinda crazy, right Karms?" she aks. Karma simply stares straight ahead. "I mean you know I love you and you can stay here whenever, but they're still your parents and you know they lov-"

"I don't _know_," Karma says. "And you don't either."

Amy falls back at the tone in her best friend's voice. Karma's never yelled at her, she's never even snapped at her.

"I don't know what, Karma?"

"You don't know what it's like," Karma snaps. She's heard Zen's little 'they chose me' bit one too many times. And it's sunk in so badly, the young girl has actually started to believe it.

Amy reaches out for her hand, but Karma snatches it back.

"You don't know what it's like to not be good enough," the redhead says. "You don't know what it's like to not be enough for your own parents, for them to actually want you..."

Karma trails off as she sees the change coming over Amy's face. She's nine, so she doesn't know for sure what the word 'crumbles' means, but she's got a pretty good idea that thing her best friend's face is doing right now fits the word.

She's only seen Amy look like that once before. But that was when her father…

Oh.

Oh, no.

It hits Karma then, an eighteen-wheeler spinning out and slamming into her heart as she realizes just what she said. Her hands fly to the belt hooking her to Amy's bed and she's scrambling to undo it even as Amy crumples to the floor, her stare gone vacant and lost.

Even at nine, Karma knows her friend isn't there right now.

Free of the belt, she dives across the floor, wrapping her arms around Amy and pulling her close. "I'm so sorry, Aimes. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean…"

It's the first time Karma every says those words to Amy.

It won't be the last.

And Amy's silence breaks - as _she_ does - the quiet punctured by a pair of howl-like sobs as Amy shakes and buries her face in Karma's neck.

Farrah, Molly, and Lucas are through the door before the second sob has even finished echoing in the room. Karma releases Amy, allowing Farrah to scoop her up, and runs to her father, who lifts her off the floor into his arms.

"I'm sorry," Karma says. "I didn't mean…"

She looks back at her broken friend, still quaking in Farrah's arms. Karma knows she isn't the one who did it. It might have been her _words_, but this was all about Jack, because he was the one who left.

And Karma knows that will never be her. Because she can't understand how _anyone_ could _ever_ leave Amy.

But seeing her friend - her _best_ friend - like that still hurts Karma in a way she's never felt before.

A way she hopes she never feels again.

As Farrah soothes Amy, and the blonde's tears slow to a trickle and her body stills in her mother's arms, Karma turns to Lucas.

"Daddy, you chose Zen." she says. "And you adopted him. Can we do that for Amy too? Because you chose him, right? And I can do that," Karma says. "I can make sure Amy _always_ has a family."

Karma looks back at Amy and Farrah. She can't see her friend's face and she can't read the look on Farrah's.

"I can choose her," Karma says. "I _do_. I choose her. _Always_."

Her face buried in the crook of her mother's neck, Amy smiles a small smile.

They sound good, Karma's words. And she knows Karma means them.

And Amy wishes it was that simple. As simple as always choosing each other.

But she knows something it will take Karma years to figure out. Something that will finally only click for Karma after she feels the sting of Amy's hand across her cheek and hears the last four words she ever expected to hear.

Even at nine, Amy understands.

It's _never _that simple.

* * *

><p>This, Amy thinks, is how it starts.<p>

A simple little lie of omission. A tiny white lie to keep the peace.

No big lies. No giant cover-ups. Those come later.

It starts like this. With the little things.

"It's just a picture, Amy," Reagan says.

It was just a kiss. Just a dance. Just a song.

A kiss that changes everything. A dance that outs you to your mother. A song that should have been for you.

The little things.

"This is how it starts," Amy says softly. She runs a finger across the spot where the photo once hung. "You think that's all it is. It's just a picture. And then, before you know it, it's _just_ thinks you never expected."

It's _just _a threesome. It's _just _a confession.

It's _just_ sleeping with Liam.

Reagan hangs her head. "Shrimps…"

"It's OK," Amy says. "I know what you're trying to do. And I appreciate it." She sighs and shakes her head. "_This_ is why I didn't tell Karma," she says. "Because this is what happens. All this fucking drama and lies and everybody trying to make things OK even when they're not."

Amy looks up then, spots Karma standing in the open front door. She sees the look on her best friend's face. The way she's staring at Reagan.

"I chose me." she says quietly.

"What?" Reagan asks, confused.

"The night at the rave," Amy says. "I didn't choose _you_. I didn't know you. I _wanted _ to, but I didn't, not yet."

Karma's glare shifts, slides from Reagan to Amy.

"But I chose, that night. I chose to stop waiting for something that was never going to happen," Amy says. "I chose to stop being _just_ her best friend."

Karma blinks. She can't hear them, Amy knows that.

But they've never needed words, have they?

"For the first time, ever," Amy says, "I chose _me_. Instead of her. And I've done it every day since. Every time I didn't tell her. Every time I kept you a secret."

Reagan reaches over and laces her fingers with Amy's. She never once looks at Karma.

"I don't want to keep you a secret anymore," Amy says. Both girls laugh lightly, knowing that ship has sailed, but knowing what Amy means nonetheless. "I want Karma in my life. I'm not ready to just cut her loose, you have to know that."

Amy tears her eyes from Karma and looks at Reagan, who simply nods.

"But if it comes to it?" Amy says. "If I _have _ to? I'm choosing me," she says. "I'm choosing _us_."

Amy leans over, gives Reagan a quick kiss and slips out Lightning's door. She looks up and sees the Ashcroft's front door still open, but Karma is gone.

Amy was nine the first time Karma made her cry.

It wasn't intentional, Amy knows that.

She can only hope Karma knows that works both ways. That Karma knows Amy never meant to hurt her.

Even if that doesn't make it hurt any less.


	17. Chapter 16

_**A/N: I won't lie. This one hurt. And I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Next chapter - the party (finally). **_

The first time Amy tries to tell Karma about Reagan is the night of the rave.

She feels bad about hanging up on Karma. Yeah, it hurts to hear about Liam and his continuous stupidity and how Karma just keeps putting up with it.

(Seriously. You only get the girl because her _soulmate_ _gives_ her to you and you can't even manage to say 'girlfriend'?)

(Douche.)

So, yeah, it hurts. But Amy's been dealing with that hurt for a while. Since Homecoming. Since the threesome. Since Karma asked _her _for the threesome.

Since their first kiss. Not hers and Karma's. Karma's and _his_. The one Amy had to see, to watch, the one that turned her stomach inside out and upside down before she even understood why.

So, really, what was one more little bit of hurt? What was one more time of Karma running to her because Liam was an ass? What was more time of Karma assuming she'd be there to listen?

Just one more log on the fire.

One too fucking many logs, that's what it was.

And, to make it worse - if that was even possible - it wasn't even hearing about Liam that pained Amy. She could have lived with _that_. What she couldn't live with was what those calls spelled out for her, in big fucking burning letters, about her best friend.

Yes, she had told Karma that she could talk to her about Liam. Yes, she had given her blessing and set Karma free.

What best friend wouldn't?

But what best friend wouldn't see the truth behind it? What best friend wouldn't say 'that's great of you to offer, but I know it would hurt you. And that's the _last_ thing I would ever want to do.'

_Again_.

What best friend wouldn't - or _couldn't_ - see the truth all over Amy's face, hear it in her every word, wouldn't - or _couldn't_ - just fucking _know_ that it was killing her inside?

What best friend?

Karma.

So, yeah, it hurt. And Amy dealt with it. And dealt with it. And listened to Shane when he told her how nuts it was, when he told her she was never going to move on if she was always there whenever Karma came calling. And still, she dealt with it.

Right up until the moment she couldn't deal anymore. And she wished Karma Mazel tov on the wedding, hung up on her, and asked Reagan out.

And when Karma calls her that night, apologizing profusely - again - Amy almost tells her.

The words are on the tip of her tongue.

_I might have met someone._

She tries to say them. She tries to let it slip out between 'It's OK, Karma' and 'I'm fine, Karma', and 'Yes, Liam is a massive tool, Karma' (and maybe she only _thinks_ the last one, but that doesn't make it any less true).

Amy wants to tell her. She desperately wants to do this one normal thing. She wants to ramble on and on about Reagan, about how funny and sexy she is, about how they danced and talked and flirted (she even wants to run it by Karma, because she _thinks_ it was flirting, but Amy's never _sure_).

She wants this to be typical, the sort of thing best friends share. The sort of thing girls talk and giggle about over the phone every night all around the world.

The words are there. Right on the tip of her tongue,

And then she remembers flan. And a carnival. And a ball toss game and a ferris wheel ride and an ambulance and Oompa Loompa hands.

Amy remembers the raw, needy desperation in Karma's eyes. The over-the-top rampage of 'help' as her best friend tried to get her to move on.

And the words die there, right on the tip of her tongue.

Better not to say anything, _yet_, she thinks. She doesn't want to get Karma's hopes up.

Give it a date, Amy thinks. Maybe two.

After all, she reasons, she and Reagan might fizzle.

Things might not work out at all.

* * *

><p>Amy has no idea what to say to Karma, which has been true so often lately, that she struggles to remember a time when it wasn't.<p>

The last time she can remember being sure of anything, of _knowing_ the words coming from her mouth aren't just there to smooth things over, to keep the peace, to soothe her best friend's guilty heart?

The night of the wedding.

_I love you._

And since then, and even _before_ then, it was all secrets and avoidance and 'please, don't let me fuck up and let her know.'

And so, as she walks through the Ashcroft's front door, Amy has no idea what to say, but there's a part of her that's relieved, that's almost happy Karma knows about Reagan now.

It's one less secret to keep. One less thing to coat her words in lies and half-truths and polite bullshit about it'll all be OK.

Because it probably won't all be OK.

But then, Amy figures, it hasn't been OK in a while.

Karma waits for her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and staring through the window that looks out on the driveway. Her eyes are dark and narrow and focused tightly on the truck that still lingers in the drive.

Amy can see the anger in those eyes. And she knows it really isn't about the girl in the truck, it's not really about Reagan at all.

She hears the roar of Lightning's engine, the sound of the the tires against the pavement as Reagan pulls out.

And all Amy really wants to do is run back out the door, chase Reagan down the street until her girlfriend sees her and comes to a stop, throwing open the door so Amy can jump into the seat - _her_ seat - and then take off again.

Just her, Reagan, and Lightning.

That's all she wants.

But the girl staring out the window?

Amy knows she _needs_ her still. So she stays rooted to her spot and listens as the sounds of the truck fade away.

It's Karma who breaks the silence.

"Reagan didn't want to stay?"

Amy hardly recognizes Karma's voice. There's bitterness running through, anger rolling off every word.

All for her.

"I thought she'd come in with you," Karma says. "I figured she'd want to end what she started. Make sure she finishes _us_ off."

Amy leans her back against the open door, ready to let Karma vent. Let her get it all out. Whatever she's got, Amy's sure she can take it. And she's prepared to. Amy's ready to take it all, to endure the verbal beating she knows is coming. She knows she's hurt Karma by keeping things a secret, by shutting her out.

So, she'll take it.

Karma clutches the counter, her knuckles white against the dark marble. "I'm surprised you're even here," she says. "Reagan doesn't even think I'm worth your time."

"Reagan doesn't make _my_ decisions," Amy says softly. "And I've _always_ thought you were worth my time."

Karma nods, but her eyes stay focused out the window. "Right," she says. "Right up until you found someone better to spend that time with."

"That's not tru -"

Karma cuts her off. "Spare me," she says. "It's so fucking _obviously_ true. The moment you got Reagan, I disappeared. The moment you got the girl, _I_ got shut out."

Amy wants to argue. But she can't. Karma's words aren't entirely true.

But they're not entirely wrong, either.

"You know what I keep coming back to?" Karma asks. "I keep wondering if you kept _this_ from me, after the other _thing_, then what else is there? How many other things have _you_ kept secret from me?"

Only one, Amy thinks.

"I keep getting these ridiculous ideas in my head," Karma says. "These crazy thoughts I know can't be true because you would _never_ do those things and you would definitely _never_ lie to me about it even if you did."

"There's nothing else, Karma."

Karma nods again, and turns to face Amy, her hands still clutching at the cool counter-top.

"I never thought there was something in the first place," she says. "And I was wrong. _Twice._"

Amy can see the pain and the anger behind Karma's eyes, can read the body language. And she knows she was right. This was never about Reagan.

This is all about _her_.

"I didn't lie to hurt you - "

"Are you doing drugs now?"

The question is so surprising, so out of left field that Amy doesn't know what to do with it.

"What?"

Karma shrugs, letting go of the counter and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I know, it's crazy right? But these are the things, the things that run through my mind."

Amy remembers what she said to Reagan about Karma being like wine. About letting her age 'just right'.

Clearly, Amy waited too long.

"I would never -"

Karma cuts her off. Again. "You would never lie to me, either," she says, and Amy pretends not to notice the eye roll. "So no to the drugs?"

Amy sighs and shakes her head.

"OK, so maybe you're partying too much?" Amy says nothing. "Been arrested?" Still nothing, and Amy can see Karma's jaw twitching. "So maybe you're just drinking every night, sneaking Reagan into your bedroom so you two can get plastered?"

Amy stiffens and Karma sees it, and so she pushes. "Maybe you're turning into a drunk?" she asks. "That _does_ run in your family, right?"

Amy shifts against the door, taking an almost involuntary step back, gasping slightly.

There are lines, she thinks. No matter how pissed either of them has ever been, there are lines.

Amy never compares her to Zen. Never brings up the adoption, her parent's _choice_.

Karma never goes _near_ Jack. She never gets within spitting distance of Amy's father.

There are lines, Amy thinks.

At least there _were_.

Amy can see the change roll over Karma's face, can see that she's already regretting the words, but no matter how much she may regret, she'll never take them back. Karma's too hurt and too proud and this thing is unraveling so fast that Amy's pretty sure there's going to be far worse things said.

She just hopes she's not the one to say them.

"OK, so not a druggie or a criminal or a drunk," Karma says. "Maybe it's not _something_, maybe it's _someone_. You got another girlfriend hidden away?"

Amy shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

"How about a boyfriend, then? You are the 'sexual hulk', right?" Amy doesn't flinch. "No, probably not. If you haven't had time for _me, _I doubt you'd have time for other relationships."

Karma's eyes flicker and Amy knows what's coming.

"Hook-ups?" she asks. "Have you gone and become Hester's female Liam?" Karma can't hide the bite in her voice as she says her boyfriend's name. "Is that it, _Aimes_? Did you finally go and lose that pesky virginity?"

It's not even a flinch. Barely a blink. It's hardly anything.

But it stands in the face of ten years. And with all that history, even 'not even a flinch'?

It's enough.

"Oh, my God," Karma says, one hand flying to her mouth, the angry spiteful facade cracking and Amy swears she can see her best friend's heart. "You…" Karma stares down at the floor, her breath coming in shallow huffs.

Amy only had one secret left.

And then, it seemed, there were none.

"Karma…"

Amy lets her thoughts trail off. She doesn't know what to say, she doesn't even know what she was _thinking_ of saying.

In all the times she imagined Karma finding out about her and Liam - and let's face it, she thinks, Karma was always going to find out - this was not a scenario she ever thought of.

She always figured it would be Liam and his guilt and 'we're only as sick as our secrets' shit who would crack.

But now, staring it in the face, Amy's got no fucking idea what to say.

Sorry, Karms. But, hey, at least we lost it to the same guy.

We always share everything, right?

Karma leans back against the counter, collecting herself. "You…" She squeezes her eyes shut, trying - and failing _spectacularly_ - to drive out the images suddenly dancing through her mind. "You… and…"

And Amy waits. Waits for the question. The one she's dreaded for months, the one she has no idea how to answer. There's no good lie. No believable bullshit she can spin to make this go away. There's just that question.

_Who?_

"You and… _her_," Karma says, and the way she spits out the word, it seems like it's biting and clawing and drawing blood as it rolls out.

And Amy feels horrible.

Horrible that she can suddenly breathe again. Horrible that her world isn't ending just yet.

Horrible that Karma still trusts her enough that the truth - that the _possibility_ of the truth - never even crossed her mind.

Karma leans back and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it tight and letting it fall against her back. "Reagan said it," she says. "She said she could give you the one thing I can't. But I…" She blinks her eyes against the thoughts she can't push away.

"It's not like that, Karma," Amy says.

"You're right," Karma says. "It's not like _that_. Because, clearly, sex isn't the _only_ thing she can give you that I can't. And it's sure as hell not the only thing you're giving her that you don't give me." She looks at Amy and the confusion and loss on her face almost kills the blonde. "You've told her _everything_," Karma says, "and you kept _this_ from me?"

"I'm sorry," Amy says.

It's the only thing that comes to mind. She's trying to save a friendship. She's trying to placate Karma, to smooth things over, to let them move on.

Amy wants all that. She _needs _all that. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. That doesn't mean that a part of her - a big part that grows bigger by the day, she thinks - doesn't want to tell Karma to suck it up. To remind her 'best friend' that really, who Amy does or doesn't sleep with is none of her business.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

It's what she needs to say. But that doesn't mean the words don't burn as they cross her lips.

"You think _that's_ what I want?" Karma asks. "You think I want an apology? I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to be _her_. My friend. _My _Amy."

"I am -"

But Karma's not listening. She's pushing off the counter and pacing across the room, her bare feet padding softly across the floor.

"No," she says. "You're _not_. That girl? She never kept things from me. She never shut me out. She said our friendship always came first and I believed her."

Amy starts to protest, starts to argue that of course their friendship comes first.

But she thinks of Reagan. And she knows that would be another lie.

"If you didn't matter, Karma, I wouldn't be here."

Karma pauses, halfway back to the counter "_Matter_?" She shakes her head. "Lauren matters. Shane matters. Your mom, hell, Bruce - they matter." Karma brings her head up and Amy can see the tears pricking at her eyes. "We're supposed to do _more_ than _matter_."

"We _do_," Amy says. "You're my best friend, Karma. You know I love you."

"I don't _know_ anything anymore," Karma says. "You spend two months keeping this huge secret from me and you think I _know_ anything?" She makes it back the counter, pressing her hands against the top. "I never made a secret of anything with you," she says. "Even the worst parts of me, the things even _I _don't like, I never hid them from you."

Amy takes a step forward, reaching out. And she tries not to let it hurt when Karma moves a step away.

She tries to focus on the fact that it was just one. Just one step.

But all she can think is that it's just the _first_.

"You've always come first," Karma says. "Always."

Amy stops. And then takes a step back.

She remembers when she thought she could take whatever Karma could dish out.

She really thought she could.

But she was wrong.

The call the night of the rave was one too many logs on the fire.

But that word? _Always?_

That's not a log. That's a fucking tree.

And suddenly, faster than even she can believe, Amy finds that she can't stand the fire anymore.

"Bullshit."

Karma's head comes up and her eyes widen. "What?"

"Bullshit," Amy repeats. She remembers the way going off on Karma at lunch yesterday gave her that liberated, free feeling.

Bullshit, it seems, does the same thing.

"I've _always_ come first?" she asks, and Karma nods, but Amy can see it in her eyes. Karma knows she said the wrong thing. She might not know exactly what it was, but she _knows_.

Amy takes one more step toward Karma, but this time it's not for an embrace, not for comfort.

She wants to be close, she wants Karma to know how serious she is.

She wants Karma to _hear_ her.

"I haven't come first since the moment Liam Booker realized you existed."

* * *

><p>The last time Amy tries to tell Karma about Reagan, it's Liam that fucks it up.<p>

Big shock there.

It's Wednesday, two days before date number four.

"You're going where?" Shane asks. He leans against the locker next to Amy's, absently jiggling the handle on her open locker door.

"Bowling," Amy says, for the _fourth_ time since Shane started peppering her with invitations and pleading and begging to come to his party on Friday.

Shane's eyes narrow and his nose crinkles in distaste. "So let me get this perfectly straight," he says. "You're not going to come to my party because you're going bowling? Like renting shoes, sticking your hands on someone else's sweaty ball, bending over in totally unflattering ways bowling?"

Amy nods. She's slightly amazed that Shane can even make bowling into something vaguely sexual.

"With Reagan," she says. "And her friends."

Shane's eyes are like little jack-in-the-boxes, springing open so fast, Amy fears his lids might snap off. "Her _friends?_"

And suddenly, Amy's worried because Shane has that giddy, proud-gay-papa look, the one he always gets before he starts clapping like a circus seal and rambling on about how far his little baby-gay has come.

"I didn't know," he says. "I mean, Reagan _is_ a lesbian and they do move fast, but meeting the friends already?" Shane grins and Amy can't help but bask in the genuine warmth of it. "You officially have my permission to skip the party," he says. "Bowl, little lesbian, _bowl_."

Amy rolls her eyes, but inside she's even giddier than he is. Meeting the friends is a big deal - gay or straight - and as big a step as it, she feel's like she's ready. Like _they're _ready.

"Thanks for the permission, _dad_," she says, stuffing her notebook in her locker. "There's just one problem. The date's Friday night."

Shane's nose does that crinkly thing again. "I thought we'd already established that?"

"Yeah, well… Friday night…" Shane just stares at her wide-eyed and lost. "Friday nights? Me? A certain redhead you can't stand?"

Understanding lights Shane's face and then a frown darkens it again. "_Please_ tell me," he says, "that you are not blowing off meeting Reagan's friends to have girl's night with… _her_."

Amy shakes her head quickly. "No," she says emphatically. "I wasn't even thinking about it. But Karma's been talking about this night for the last week and a half, and if… _when_ I cancel, I'm going to have to tell her why…"

"And she still doesn't know about Reagan?"

Amy shakes her head again. "No," she says. "And I don't know how to tell her."

"Tell who what?"

Karma's voice over her shoulder startles Amy and she slams her locker, narrowly missing catching Shane's fingers in the door.

She turns to face her best friend. "Um… I…"

Shane, for once, uses his mouth to do something other than piss Amy off. "She doesn't know how to tell Lauren that she snores and it's keeping her up at night."

Amy shoots Shane a _what the fuck_ look, but then runs with it because, really, it beats the alternative.

"Right," she says. "You know, we've started sort of getting along and I don't know how to… you know… put it… nicely." She nods and grins goofily at Karma. "You know me and tact, we're not too well acquainted."

Karma laughs. "That's true," she says. "But maybe that's not bad. I mean, it _is_ Lauren, right?" Karma shudders a little at the name. "Just march in there and tell her the truth. And don't beat around the bush like you usually do. Just rip that band-aid right off."

"Yeah, Amy," Shane says. "Rip it. Rip it good."

Amy glares at him and wonders why exactly it is she's still friends with him.

"Speaking of telling people things," Karma says, "wait till I tell you my news."

Amy regards her best friend for a moment. And she quickly picks up on all the tell-tale signs.

Karma's grinning from ear to ear.

She's hopping - no, practically _bouncing_ - in place.

Her eyes are dancing in that 'guess who's having a super sexy secret affair' way they have that almost always means trouble and/or heartbreak for Amy.

So, clearly, this 'news'?

It's all about Liam.

But then, when isn't it?

"Let me guess," Amy says. "Liam finally managed to get 'girlfriend' all the way out of his mouth?"

"Yeah," Shane joins in. "But only when he does a little finger snap, wiggles those surprisingly girlish hips of his and says 'you go, girlfriend.'"

Karma glares at him, which is good because it means she misses the laugh Amy's trying to stifle.

"Or," Shane says, "maybe not?"

"He invited me to dinner," Karma says. She pauses, waits until both Amy and Shane look officially underwhelmed - because you know that _is _what couples do - and then she drops what, to Karma, is a massive fucking bomb.

"Dinner," she says, "at _his house_."

Amy's too busy trying to wipe the images of Casa de Booker that involuntarily flood her mind, that she misses the double arched brows on Shane's face.

"This is _it,_" Karma says. "He's finally going to introduce me to his family."

"That's… great, Karms," Amy says, trying not to wonder how Liam plans to explain the momster.

"I _know_," Karma says. "He just asked me before last period. Friday night at his place _and _he's going to take me out to get a new dress just for the occasion."

Amy resists the urge to mention the one hanging in her closet that Karma could borrow. And then return to Liam's sis..moth… whatever the fuck that woman is.

"Wait," Shane says. "Friday?" he asks, poking Amy gently in the side.

Karma nods. And Amy doesn't need Shane's jabbing fingers to catch on.

Friday. Girl's night.

The girl's night Karma's spent ten days obsessing about. The girl's night Amy's been stressing about cancelling for the last three days.

The girl's night Karma just basically blew off without - it would seem - a second thought.

Amy's off the hook.

Now, if she just knew whether to feel crappy or relieved.

"Shit," Karma says as the bell rings. "I'm going to be late for math." She hugs Amy and nods at Shane. "See you at lunch?"

Amy and Shane both nod, watching her bounce off down the hall.

"Guess that solves that problem," Amy says. She's grateful for the reprieve, but she has to admit that coming in second to Liam - _again_ - still stings.

Not as much as it once did. But still...

Shane nods as he holds out an arm for her. "But it creates a whole new one for you," he says.

"What's that?" Amy asks, slinging her arm through his as they make their way down the hall.

"Liam's family is out of town this weekend," Shane mutters. "So whatever it is he has planned for him, Karma, and his empty house? It's not a meet and greet, that's for sure."

Amy sighs. Karma's going to be pissed. And heartbroken. And desperate for someone to drag into her emotional quicksand.

"Sucks for her," Amy says, and she doesn't mean it as unsympathetically as it sounds.

But she does make a mental note to forget her cell phone at home on Friday night.

* * *

><p>Since the moment she woke up next to Liam, Amy has felt guilty.<p>

And she should, she knows that. She did something wrong. Something possibly unforgivable. And she knows that someday, she's going to have to pay for that.

But today?

Today is not that day.

Today is the day when Amy forgets the way the scales have tipped. Today is the day when Amy stops being 'OK' with everything because she doesn't have the moral high ground anymore.

Today is the day Amy says a million things she's wanted to say for what seems like a million years.

"I haven't come first since the moment Liam Booker realized you existed."

Amy snaps the words off like a whip and she can practically see them draw blood. Karma takes another step back, but Amy matches her.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about losing my virginity," she says. "I was just waiting for the right time. You know, like a wedding? Or after a heartbreaking confession?"

Karma blanches and starts to speak, but Amy doesn't give her the chance.

"And I'm sorry if I shut you out. But let's face it, Karma… there's no way I can keep something like this from you unless you _let_ me."

The color rushes back to Karma's cheeks and she stands a little taller. "I _let_ you?"

Amy nods, a part of her surprisingly happy that Karma's at least fighting back.

"Yeah," she says. "How else do you explain you not noticing something was up? You were so busy with Liam, you didn't have the _time_ to see something was going on with me."

"Is that what this is about?" Karma asks. "You trying to get my attention?"

"No," Amy yells and Karma falls back. Amy never yells. She raises her voice, gets loud, but she _never_ yells. "This is about me being in love. This is about me having someone who loves me back." She's practically in Karma's face. "This is about _me_. Not _you_."

Amy growls and turns, frustrated and angry and tired of all this shit.

But Karma's not quite done.

"Bullshit," Karma says, drawing out the word, clearly relishing her chance to turn it around on Amy. "You say that like it's never about you, but it's _always_ about you," she says. "Ever since you told me you loved me, it's all been about you."

Amy wheels back around and for a second - just _one_ - Karma's afraid.

"It was you I came to the morning after the wedding," Karma says. "It was you I stalked to the drugstore, you I wrote that song for, you I tried to help move on." It's her turn to step closer to Amy. "I did everything for _you _and our friendship." She pauses, mostly for dramatic effect because, even in the heat of it, she's still Karma. "I gave him up _for you_."

Amy doesn't have to ask who 'him' is. She can still hear the words in her head.

_I knew I couldn't be with Liam and keep our friendship._

_So I chose you._

"Fuck you,," Amy says. "You didn't give him up, Karma. He _dumped_ you. Because _you_ lied to him. Over and over again. You made him fall in love with someone who never even existed."

"I exist," Karma says.

Amy nods. "Yeah, but Liam didn't fall in love with _you_. He fell in love with a made-up, phony as he is, lesbian. He fell in love with a lie."

Amy knows she should stop. She knows, if she wants to save their friendship, this is where she needs to hit the brakes.

But she's fresh out of fucks to give.

"The only reason you 'chose' me, Karma, is because you didn't have _another_ choice. I was the only one who would take you back."

There were always lines.

And Amy's about to cross another.

"I _know _you," she says. "Better than Liam ever will. And I _still_ took you back. Every fucking time. After I outed myself on television. After you bailed on the threesome. After you told the school I was a fucking sex addict."

"I apologized for that," Karma says but it's nothing more than an automatic reaction and even to her own ears it sounds pathetic and weak.

"You think that makes it better?" Amy crosses the room, needing to be away from the other girl. "You threw me under the bus, Karma. Your first instinct - your _only_ instinct - was to hurt _me_ to protect _him_."

Karma opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She doesn't have the words.

"Do you ever think about that night, Karma? The night of the wedding?"

Karma nods, slowly. She's caught off guard by the sudden change in gears, and she remembers where this went with Reagan.

She's afraid this is going to be worse.

"Do you know what I think about when I remember that night?" Amy asks.

Karma can't answer because none of the answers are good.

_Liam crawling out from under a table?_

_Confessing your love?_

_When I broke your heart?_

"When I think about that night," Amy says, blinking her eyes against the memories. "I think about what might have been. If Shane had kept his mouth shut. If he didn't tell Liam the truth."

Karma backs up until she hits the kitchen table.

She was right. This is going to be worse.

Amy continues, not even looking at Karma. "I think about how you didn't chase after me when I left my room. I think about how you went to _him_, and where you would've gone if he hadn't known. If he didn't dump you."

Karma wants to make it stop. She wants to tell Amy not to think about that. She wants to tell her she would've spent the night crying on Liam's shoulder, trying to figure out a way to fix their broken friendship.

She wants to.

But she can't.

Because she doesn't know if it's true. And Amy would never believe it, even if it was.

"I think," Amy says, "about where that would've left me." She realizes, maybe for the first time, that a part of her is almost grateful for that night with Liam. That at least there was someone there. "I would've been alone, Karma. Not just that night." She looks at her best friend then. "I would've been alone. _Always_."

Tears run down Karma's cheeks and, for the first time she can remember, Amy doesn't have the urge to wipe them away.

"I shut you out, Karma. I did." Amy blinks back her own tears. "Because I had to. Because I couldn't let myself be alone anymore."

Amy's never said this, not even to Reagan. She hopes Karma can realize that, she hopes her best friend can see through the anger and the pain and the layers upon layers of lies and see what she's trying to do.

She's trying to let her back in.

"You were my everything, Karma," Amy says. "My best friend, my family." She pauses, barely able to say the rest. "My _love_."

Karma sinks down into one of the kitchen chairs. She can't stand anymore.

"For ten years, you were all that mattered. And then you were… almost…. gone," Amy says. hating that she's giving Karma even this much, hating even more that she's so wounded and hurt that she's not sure she'll ever get past it. "And then you were there again but you weren't happy. You wanted him. You missed him."

Karma's never hated Liam like she does in this moment.

"I wasn't enough, so l let you go," Amy says, a small smile creasing her lips. "It was the right thing to do. But… I couldn't just go on like this," she says. "I couldn't just sit around waiting for you to call me, waiting for you to come to your senses… waiting for _you_."

"I never asked you to," Karma says.

"I know," Amy replies. "But that's all I had. _You_ were all I had. Until…"

"Reagan," Karma says softly.

Amy shakes her head. "No," she says. "You keep thinking this is about you against Reagan. That this is just about girlfriend and best friend. But it's not. It's about Reagan and Lauren and Shane and Theo and my mom."

She can't help but smile at the thought of the people she loves. At the thought of the people who have become something she's never had outside of Karma.

Her family.

"I never wanted you out of my life, Karma. And I never wanted to hide my life from you," she says. "You are a huge, important part of my life. You always have been. And I want you to stay that way."

Amy walks to the door. She's drained and there's nothing left in her heart or her mind.

"I love Reagan," she says. "And I love you. And I want both of you in my life and in my heart. I hope you can believe that."

Karma stares but says nothing.

"I hope we'll see you tonight," Amy says, stepping through the door. She pauses, leaning against the frame. "I don't want you out of my life, Karms."

"You don't?" Karma's not sure what to think, what to believe.

Amy shakes her head. "No," she says. "But I just can't let you _be_ my life anymore."

And then she's gone.


	18. Chapter 17

_**A/N: Karma is exhausting to write. Angst is exhausting to write. Angst ridden Karma? Yeah, exhausting. Thanks to everyone for the reviews and the favorites and the follows. I can't believe all the support my little story has gotten. You all rock! So, as promised, part one of the party...**_

Karma knows what her problem is.

_Besides _the rampant insecurity, the occasional insensitivity, the more than occasional obliviousness.

She knows what her bigger problem is. Her _biggest_.

She just can't leave well enough alone.

A problem, in Karma's world, is like a scab. A scab that she needs to pick at and dig at and, generally, aggravate to the point of pain and - sometimes - infection.

Problems are scabs she just can't let heal.

Especially problems with Amy.

That's why they can never go that long without talking after a fight. Why space and time are never options for them.

Because they're not options for _her._

Like after the wedding.

After she broke Amy's heart. (And, _technically_, Liam's as well, but that somehow seems less and less important to her with every passing day.)

It was her mom who gave her the idea for a big gesture. It was Molly who told Karma about Lucas and his giant fire and Burning Man and their passion and all that.

Molly put the idea in her head. But it wasn't like Karma needed much in the way of convincing.

And then, there she was. Out on Amy's lawn, going all John Cusack and not once even considering how romantic the whole thing was, not once thinking about the fact that she was serenading her _fake_ girlfriend instead of the boy she claimed she wanted.

Not once considering that the wound under that scab she was picking wasn't just hurting _her_.

It wasn't until Karma saw Liam in the window - and Tommy hopping across the lawn- that she'd stopped singing. But she'd known long before that moment that the 'salt' to her pepper wasn't taking her big gesture quite as well as she'd hoped.

She's known Amy most of her life and maybe (no, not _maybe_) she'd somehow missed something big (the _biggest_) those weeks when they were faking it, but she still recognized the look on Amy's face in the window.

After all, she'd seen it just the night before.

But she didn't stop. Not when Shane and Lauren popped into view. Not when Amy's face crumpled. Karma kept on going, right through it all.

That scab wasn't going to pick itself.

Karma knows what her biggest issue is. She knows what kind of person she is and that _isn't_ the kind of person who can back off and be patient and wait for things to right themselves.

She is trying though, really she is. There's nothing Karma wants more right now than do the right thing, the thing that won't make everything worse.

She doesn't want to water-board Amy's heart again.

She doesn't want to push her further into Reagan's arms or make herself seem any more like the horrible person Shane and Lauren already think she is.

Basically, Karma doesn't want to do Karma.

And she knows it. And knowing is half the battle, right?

Except, as Karma will discover by the end of the night, _that's_ not the half of the battle she needs to worry about.

* * *

><p>This is how Karma's world starts to end. Not with a bang. Not with a whimper.<p>

With applause.

Amy told her once that the one thing she had really learned from faking it was this - people, Amy said, are idiots.

Karma had laughed and reminded her that, for the most part, Amy thought people were idiots _before_ they'd faked anything.

But, as she watches Amy and Reagan step through the door to Shane's house, Karma's reminded of Amy's words. And she thinks Amy might have had a point.

They enter to applause. To a standing _fucking_ ovation that starts in the corner of the room closest to the door and spreads like a virus, like some sick version of the wave cascading all around the room, until everyone is standing and cheering and whooping and hollering.

Karma's lurking across the room, tucked into the small alcove between the Harvey's refrigerator and stove - her own little rock and a hard place hiding spot. She can see everything.

The way they all cheer.

The way they high-five each other, like they had anything to do with it all.

The way some of the boys - led by Tommy, that ass - wolf whistle at the two girls. Karma can see Amy blush and Reagan glare.

And then there's Shane, hugging Amy, hugging Reagan, nodding at Lauren and Theo as they follow the couple of the hour through the door. Karma watches him, clearly in his element, as he plays the excited host.

He did that for her once. Not that long ago.

It feels like forever.

Liam's next to her, and Karma's not sure if he just appeared or if he's been there all along and she figures it doesn't much matter.

The show's the thing.

And then Shane's standing on a chair, clinking a spoon against a bottle of beer, hushing the cheers for the moment,

"It was just a few months ago," he says, "that many of us stood in this very room and… answered the call of history!"

Karma can see Lauren rolling her eyes at Shane's dramatics and thinks to herself that this might be the first time she and Satan's little ninja have ever agreed on something.

Shane's still rolling. "Together, we set out that night to elect our first ever same-sex Homecoming Queens, our first ever out and proud lesbian couple!"

Tommy and crew let out another cheer and Karma wonders - not for the first time - what Lauren ever saw in him.

"Of course," Shane says, "we all know things didn't exactly… work out…"

Karma keeps her eyes on Shane because she knows everyone else's eyes are on her.

She could look away. Look down. Frown. Show some shame, some humility.

_Fuck them_.

"But tonight," Shane says from atop his chair. "Tonight, we welcome the couple Hester deserves! Tonight we raise our glasses to Amy and Reagan!"

Liam reaches over and takes Karma's hand as another ovation erupts from the crowd.

She resists - just barely - the urge to yank her hand away.

"Tonight, we celebrate _real_ love," Shane says. "Give it up! Give it up for Amy and Reagan!"

And the crowd - predictably - goes wild.

Liam leans into Karma and whispers into her ear. "They'd cheer anything he told them to," he says. "Shane's a maestro with the drunk idiots."

Karma nods. She knows that.

People _are _idiots. They'll let themselves get wrapped up in anything. They'll let themselves treat real people and real lives like the sort of thing they see on TV.

They'll 'ship' whoever's hot, whoever's the flavor of the week.

And then, when they're done, when they're bored?

The idiots will move on. It's _easy _for _them_.

Try being the one they move on from.

Karma shrugs off Liam's hand and heads for the drinks, suddenly intent on becoming one of those drunk idiots as quickly and totally as possible. As she picks up the nearest bottle - vodka, she thinks - her eyes catch Amy's from across the room.

_I just can't let you _be _my life anymore_.

She pours herself a shot and drains it.

And by the time she slams the glass back down on the counter?

She can't see Amy anymore.

* * *

><p>It's around drink number three - four, if you count the shot, but she's <em>so<em> not - that Karma finally figures it out.

All night long there's been something buzzing in the back of her brain, something digging at her, poking her into consciousness when all she wants to do is slip into the happy nothingness of her buzz.

She hasn't been able to figure it out, or make it stop, as she's drifted around the room, slowly swaying her way between the little cliques of people.

Most of them, she's noticed, don't seem to spare her even a thought. She doesn't hear the usual whispers, feel the usual side-eyed glances, pick up the usual bad juju that's been sent her way since the first time she kissed Liam in public.

Karma's gotten used to it. She's become accustomed to hearing her name in hushed tones, to feeling all those eyes on her - always from behind, because not a one of them has the balls to say or do anything to her face.

She's gotten used to it. And now that it's gone?

She almost misses it.

And she's going to need another drink before she can even consider what _that_ says about her.

But now, it's not her name on everyone's lips. It's not her that everyone's sneaking peeks at.

It's _them. _It's Reamy.

And, at first, Karma thinks that's what the buzzing is. That makes sense after all. Everything she'd done was for attention. For popularity.

She had it. She lost it. And now it's Amy's and Reagan's.

Sure, she still has the guy, the Ferrari of boyfriends.

Though, she does have to wonder - what's the point of having the Ferrari if none of your neighbors are even a little bit jealous?

Sure, it's cool and stylish and - _sometimes _- a great ride.

But if you want to do anything - anything _real_ - it's about as useful as tits on a bull.

So, Karma wonders if that's all the buzzing is. A little bit of jealousy and a little bit of marvelling at the irony. She was the one who wanted to be popular. She was the one who wasn't content with their Netflix watching, girl's night having, going to grow old together world of two.

_That_ was all Amy had ever wanted.

And now, it's Amy's name on everyone's tongue. It's Amy - whether she wants it or not - who's the belle of the ball.

It would be normal, expected even, for Karma to be jealous.

And, after drink number three, she realizes that yes, she _is _jealous. But not in _that _way.

It's Oliver who brings it home for her.

At first, she almost doesn't recognize him. Since joining drama club, Oliver has changed so drastically, Karma has to wonder if he's taking a page out of the faking it dossier.

The glasses are gone. The head down, silent shuffle across campus is history. Oliver doesn't blend in anymore, he doesn't just disappear into the crowd. Drama has given him something and he's run with it.

And now, here he is. At a Harvey party, commanding quite an audience.

It seems that Oliver has two claims to fame - his acting _and_ being the only boy Amy Raudenfeld has ever kissed.

Liam could dispute that. But he never does.

Karma's grateful he has at least that much sense.

She pauses by the sliding glass doors that lead out to the Harvey backyard. Oliver is just beyond them, holding court in front of a gaggle of freshman girls, the ones who would normally never get an invite to Shane's party, but he wanted a big crowd tonight, for _them_.

"It was a good kiss," Oliver says. "At least for me. I mean, _obviously, _Amy probably didn't enjoy it quite as much…"

Karma can see the self-deprecating grin on his face, the charming shrug of the shoulders. The way his captivated audience eats it all up.

People _are_ idiots.

"I think that was what did it," Oliver says. "You know what I mean? I think our kiss was Amy's first clue that she might not be… quite as straight as she thought."

Karma wants to reach through the glass and throttle him.

Amy's first clue? Kissing him? _Him?_

_I kissed her first, fucker_.

Though, considering the mess that's made of everything, Karma thinks, maybe she shouldn't be so quick to take credit.

She moves on, shaking her head and sipping drink number three - nearly gone now - but Oliver's words keep ringing in her ears.

And they're not the only ones.

"I hear they met at a rave."

"I heard it was a party."

"Amy made the first move, you know."

"That's just her style - being the go-getter."

"You know it. When Raudenfeld sees something she wants, she _gets_ it."

She completes a full orbit of the room, ending up back at the drink table and that's when she finally pieces it together.

She's not jealous of the attention.

She's jealous of _them_. Not Reagan and Amy.

Everyone else.

She's jealous of their sudden interest in the one person Karma's always known was the best of them. Of their sudden knowledge - more than her's - of _her_ best friend's life.

Karma doesn't know where Reagan and Amy met. She doesn't know who asked who out. She doesn't know about their first date or why Reagan calls her 'Shrimps' or anything.

And she's not just jealous. She's angry. She's pissed that all these… _idiots_… seem to think they have some claim on Amy. They seem to think she's _theirs_ somehow.

Amy's a go-getter? That's her style?

Three months ago, most people in this place couldn't have picked Amy out of a lineup if the other people in it were all guys.

And suddenly they _know_ her? They care about her?

She matters?

Getting pushed out of Amy's life for Reagan?

Karma could almost live with that.

But this?

This is something altogether different. _This_ is unacceptable.

Amy doesn't belong to the masses. Amy belongs to her.

And, apparently, to Reagan. Though Karma's still not convinced of that one.

It took Karma three drinks - twenty minutes - to figure it out.

It only takes her one more drink - all of forty-five seconds - to know what she's going to do about it.

She's going to remind them all - starting with Reagan.

She was there first. And she'll be there last.

* * *

><p>Karma starts with the snacks.<p>

She's pouring herself another drink - number five (and that's not counting the shot)- adding something fruity, cranberry maybe, to her vodka, when she sees Reagan at the table at the other end of the kitchen.

From the couple of times she and Amy visited Shane's house when they were together - and Karma almost chokes on _that _word - she recognizes the little table with snacks set out all across it as Mrs. Harvey's 'desk' for her many work-at-home jobs.

She has as many as four at a time, Karma remembers. Apparently, selling sex toys out of your trunk doesn't always pay the bills.

The second - and last - time Karma and Amy were here, Mrs. Harvey tried to get them each to take a little pocket vibrator, on the house. She mentioned something about even lesbians getting the itch and started explaining settings on the toys and then Shane quickly ushered the girls up to his room.

It's still the only time Karma's ever seen Shane blush.

Karma watches as Reagan fills up a small bowl with some non-descript snack mix and then weaves her way back through the crowd to the couch where Amy, Lauren, and Theo have set up camp.

Reagan sets the bowl down on Amy's lap and Karma is moving before she even realizes it.

Amy's never paid nearly enough attention to her allergy. From the time she was ten until she turned fourteen, Karma thinks she must have Epi'd Amy at least a half a dozen times, and taken food from her on probably twice as many occasions.

Without her, Amy might well be dead a few times over.

Can any of the idiots say that?

Karma reaches the couch in time and snatches the bowl from Amy's hand before the blonde can even take a bite.

"Ashcroft, what the fuck?" Lauren yells and Karma's mind flashes back to that morning.

The couch.

Reagan's nearly bare breasts.

Amy's lips. Her skin. The way her body moved atop Reagan…

"Um, Karma?" Amy's staring at her wide-eyed and her voice snaps Karma out of her fantasy - _memory - _and Karma looks at her. "I was kinda eating that? Or, I was going to, you know, before you yanked it out of my hand."

Karma feels the familiar tingle as eyes start to dance across her back. She should have known.

Any time she and Amy are within five feet of each other, the lookie-loos come a running.

Karma ignores Amy and turns to Reagan, answering the angry glare the older girl is giving her with one of her own.

"You could've killed her," Karma says. "Do you even think? You say you love her and then you just give her _anything_?" Her hand trembles and the bowl shakes. "Amy has a potentially fatal - "

"Peanut allergy," Reagan says, cutting Karma off. "I know."

Five drinks may not be slurring her words yet - which surprises Karma a little - but they do seem to be working on the connection between her brain and her mouth as she feels like she's running on a five-second delay.

"You do?" she finally sputters out.

Reagan nods as she stands, gently taking the shaking bowl out of Karma's hands and handing it back to Amy. "Yup. Which is why _I _made the snack mix," she says. "Some dried fruit, chocolate, pretzels, and my secret ingredient."

"I swear to God," Lauren says from the other end of the couch. "If you say love, I'm going to puke."

Reagan shakes her head and laughs. "Nope," she says. "Nothing secret about my love," she says, speaking to Lauren, but _looking_ at Karma. "The secret ingredient is doughnuts."

Amy's eyes light up. "Planter's?"

Reagan nods. "They were out of bacon this morning, so you'll have to live with Jalapeno."

If the handful of snack mix Amy shoves into her mouth is any indication, living with Jalapeno isn't a problem at all.

Reagan keeps watching Karma. "If it makes you feel any better, Karma, I come prepared too."

Karma watches as the older girl reaches into the pocket of her way-too-tight cut offs and tugs out an Epi-pen.

"I've got one on me at all times," Reagan says. "Plus one in my truck, one with my DJ gear, and one in my apartment."

"Beside table?" Theo asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively even as Lauren slugs him in the arm.

"Kitchen drawer," Reagan says, pausing for a moment. "We don't eat in bed."

"Not _food _at least!" It's Tommy, standing with some jock buddies a few feet from the couch. He earns himself a round of laughs from his cronies.

"Hey, Tommy," Reagan hollers. "Way I hear it, your last girlfriend had to teach you that you don't actually _eat _it. That true?"

Tommy shuts up and Karma spots a small smile on Lauren's face.

If things were different, Karma thinks, she could learn to like Reagan.

The older girl returns her attention to Karma. "It's nice that you're worried about Amy," she says, offering Karma a small smile. "But it's OK. She's safe with me."

Everyone stills - even Amy in mid-bite - and waits. It was just a comment, a girlfriend letting a best friend know that she wouldn't let anything happen to the girl they both care about.

Except that's _not_ all it is, and everyone knows it.

So they grow silent, looking back and forth between the two girls, waiting for the explosion.

But it never comes.

Karma nods, drains the rest of drink number five, and mumbles out something that sounds vaguely like 'good' before she disappears back the way she came.

Even that five-second delay isn't enough to keep Karma from picking up _exactly_ what Reagan's laying down.

And she knows. She's not nearly drunk enough for this.

* * *

><p>Liam finds her after drink number five and she lets him take her hand - drink number six is in her other one - and lead her upstairs to one of the bedrooms.<p>

She's got no intention of doing _anything_ with him - her earlier decree from the art room still stands - but she needs a break, some space, some air that's not full of Reagan and Amy and all the rest.

Liam steers her to the bed and as he guides her down on top of the comforter, Karma's stomach does a nauseous somersault and she wonders if it's _always _been like that with him and she just didn't recognize it. If she just mistook it for something else.

Something more.

He takes the drink from her hand and sets it on the nightstand, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About earlier, in the art room. That was shitty of me."

Karma doesn't lift her head or even look at him, she just stares at the ceiling.

It needs stars, she thinks.

"It seems like lately, everything I do is shitty," Liam says. He folds his hands in his lap and stares at the floor. "I don't think I'm making you happy."

You're not, Karma thinks, but she doesn't say it because that would be mean. And he's trying. And right now, the last thing she needs, or could take, is another enemy.

And - she knows - it's not entirely his fault.

"I know you think I'm ashamed of you or something," he says. "Or that this doesn't really mean anything to me because I won't introduce you to my… family." He spits out the word, like it offends him. "But that's not true. It's them," he says, "not you."

It's me, she thinks, not _you_.

"I love you, Karma," he says and she does turn to look at him then. It's not the first time he's said it, but it's usually in a text or a voicemail and only rarely _to_ her, at least not when their clothes are on. "I love you and I just want you to be OK."

He turns to look at her and she sees genuine concern in his eyes.

Sometimes - a lot of times, lately - Karma forgets that Liam is an actual person. That there's something to him beyond being the hottest guy in school and her Ferrari.

It hurts her that she does that.

It hurts her more that she _can_.

"I'm fine," she says, five drinks making her tongue feel thick in her mouth. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Liam doesn't reply at first. Instead, he reaches down and takes her hand in his, Karma instinctively lacing her fingers through his.

He stares down at their entwined fingers for a moment before he speaks again. "I'm not completely clueless, you know."

"What?"

He ghosts a caress across her thumb, his eyes still lingering on their hands. "It's killing you, isn't it?" he asks. "Seeing them together."

Karma considers, just for a moment, asking who he means by 'them'. But she's had just enough to drink to make that little bit of feigned confusion - and the crap that would follow - too much fucking work.

"No," she says. And it's not a _complete_ lie. Does it hurt? Yes. But it's not about that right now.

Liam drops her hand and stands up, running one hand through his hair. "I can see it," he says. "_Everyone_ can. They all think you're just pissed because now Amy's popular and you're not."

Karma lets her hand drift back down to her side. "And what do _you_ think?"

Liam picks up her cup and drains half of drink number six in one gulp. "I think you're never going to be OK with it. You're never going to be able to deal with Amy loving someone as much as she loves you."

The words come unbidden from her lips. "It'll never happen," she says and the words hang their as they _both _wonder what she means.

Amy will never love someone as much as she loves Karma?

Or she'll never be OK with it?

Two days ago, Karma wouldn't have even thought of either question as being worthy of consideration.

Liam shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. "Why didn't you listen to me?" he asks. "I told you I didn't want to be responsible," he says. "I didn't want to be the one to come between you."

Karma wants to remind him that for all his weeks of protesting that exact thing, in the end, he did want it. He wanted her.

But that, at this point, is neither here nor there.

Karma makes no move to sit up. "You didn't come between us," she says, the lie tripping off her tongue with well-practiced ease. "Amy and I were never a couple. It wasn't real and you know it."

Liam looks at her and she can tell. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. He didn't want the same answer he's gotten ever since this whole mess started.

He wanted the truth.

But Karma was fresh out of that.

"I know what you _told_ me," he says. "But the way you act… actions really do speak louder, you know?"

"I chose you," she says. "I'm with you. I _slept _with _you." _

"I know," he says softly as he walks to the door and opens it. "But let's face it, Karma. You've always been good at faking it."

She's grateful he's actually out of the room before she starts crying.

* * *

><p>Karma hides out in Shane's room for the rest of drink number six.<p>

Her tears have dried and her stomach has settled - as much as it will on five and a half drinks, she's such a fucking lightweight - when she rolls off the bed and heads for the stairs.

She's going to have to find Liam at some point. She doesn't think they just broke up, but she's not entirely sure and she knows that's not just from the five and a half drinks.

Karma knows she'll have to talk to him.

She also knows she's going to have to be much, much drunker for _that._

Karma reaches the top of the stairs and she has to pause for a moment to make the railing stop moving. And then she looks down into the living room.

And the tears that were gone and the settled stomach?

Yeah. Screw that.

Reagan's apparently hijacked the music controls because she's standing behind the little makeshift DJ table Shane has set up. The dance and hip-hop club mixes have been replaced by something Karma knows but can't quite place…

Is that… Billy Joel?

_What the fuck_?

Lauren, Theo, Shane, and Amy - fucking _Amy_? - are out in front of the table, arms interlocked, dancing in a makeshift kickline as the music blares.

And then Lauren and Amy step out of line, dashing up to the table and the three of them - the Raudenfeld-Cooper sisters and DJ Reagan - tip their heads together and wail, loudly, the chorus to _Uptown Girl_.

_What the _absolute _fuck?_

They laugh as the chorus ends and Lauren wraps herself up in Theo's arms, Shane drops himself onto Duke's lap on the couch, and Amy…

Amy launches right into the next song, grooving in her own awkward - adorable (awkwordable?) way, singing the song right to Reagan.

And it's pitchy and horribly off key and the sort of thing Amy would _never_ do in public, except she _is_.

Karma slides down against the banister and sits on the top step. Amy glances up then and their eyes lock and used to make Karma feel safer and more loved than anything in the world, suddenly makes her feel like she's going to pass out right then and there.

And Karma suddenly finds herself reevaluating everything.

Because maybe Amy did belong to her, once. Maybe she was there first.

But Karma's not so sure she'll be there last.

She's not sure she'll be there past tonight.

* * *

><p>Karma's standing in the back yard nursing drink number seven - or is it eight? she thinks there was another shot in there - staring at the swing when Shane finds her.<p>

"If you're trying to move it with your mind," Shane says, "don't bother. I tried to do that when I was six. All I did was give myself a headache."

Karma keeps staring.

_It's official._

"Amy sent you to check up on me, didn't she?"

_She asked. I said yes._

"Whaaat?" Shane says. "Can't I just come out into my own backyard to talk to my frien…" He cuts himself off, knowing he can't sell it. "Yeah. She saw you on the stairs and didn't think you looked too good."

Once upon a time, Karma knows, Amy wouldn't have sent anyone else. She wouldn't have trusted anyone else to make sure Karma was truly OK.

"I'm fine," Karma says, her eyes never leaving the swing.

_Reamy is a thing._

"This is where it happened, isn't it?" she asks.

Shane looks at the swing, back to Karma, back to the swing. "Where what happened?"

"I saw the picture," she says. Saw it. Stole it. Tore it. "This is where Reamy became real."

Shane fidgets nervously in place. He told Amy he was the wrong person to check up on Karma. She needs someone sensitive, someone with patience.

Someone who gives a fuck.

"Yeah," he finally says. "They were just here hanging with me and Duke and Amy just blurted it out." He laughs. "I think she actually said 'wanna be my girl'."

Karma smiles, as best she can. "Sounds like her."

She downs the rest of drink number seven or eight in one breath.

"She looked happy in the picture," Karma says. "Happier than I've seen her in a while."

"She _is_ happy," Shane says. "And you should be happy _for_ her. That's what best friends do, right?"

Karma squeezes the empty red Solo cup in her hand, focusing on the feeling of plastic bending and buckling beneath her fingers. "I _am_ happy for her, Shane."

"Really?" he asks. "Because that's not exactly what I hear."

Karma laughs, but it's short and harsh and forced. "Liam or Lauren?"

"What?"

"Liam or Lauren?" she asks again. "Who did you _hear_ from? My _boyfriend_ who seems to be convinced I'm in love with someone else or Amy's _step_-sister who likes to threaten me with fairy tales?"

"Both, actually," Shane admits. "Though Liam didn't really get into the whole 'love someone else bit'. He just said you weren't happy. And that it was Amy's fault."

Karma shakes her head. "_Your_ best friend doesn't seem to be too capable of taking responsibility for much, does he?"

It's Shane's turn to laugh, the first time he can remember laughing around Karma in a very long time. "I love Liam to death," he says, "but seeing everyone else's guilt instead of his own _is_ his specialty."

Karma nods. She's known that about Liam almost from the beginning. "I'm not in love with Amy," she says.

"OK," Shane replies.

"You don't believe me."

Shane lets out a long breath. There's so much he could say here, so much he's _wanted_ to say for so long. But Amy wanted him to check on Karma, not browbeat her.

"You liked to me - to _all _of us - for weeks, Karma," he says, trying his best to keep his tone neutral. "I'm not sure how you expect anyone to believe you about anything."

Karma nods again. "Fair enough," she says and it _is_. She takes two quick steps and settles down onto the swing. "But it's not just not believing me," she says. "You don't _like_ me."

Shane crosses in front of her and drops down onto the other end of the swing. He's at a loss here and he silently curses Amy for having him so whipped that he's actually having this conversation.

"You lied," Shane says. "And you hurt two people I really care about. And… even after you broke both their hearts, you still got exactly what you wanted." He pushes his feet against the ground, rocking the swing in a gentle arc. "So, yeah, I find it a little difficult to like you."

"Fair enough," Karma says, "again." She flips her cup upside down on her leg, drumming her fingers against the bottom in time with the motion of the swing. "I suppose if I tell you that wasn't my plan, you're not going to believe that either."

"I _know_ that wasn't your plan, Karma." Shane stares straight ahead, but he can see her head snap around out of the corner of his eye. "But that almost makes it worse. Sometimes it's better if someone's horrible _on purpose_. At least then you know they gave it - they gave _you_ - some thought."

The swing glides through the air and Karma watches as her perspective shifts. Up. Down. Up. Down.

"Did you ever have feelings for Liam?" Karma asks, not oblivious to the irony of _her_ asking _him_.

"What?" Shane's feet hit the ground and he brings the swing to a stop. "Feelings? Liam?"

Karma looks at him then and for the first time he can ever remember, Shane sees something behind her eyes beyond the desire for popularity and acceptance and approval.

She understands.

"It was seventh grade," he says. "It was fleeting. And Liam is _the_ straightest guy on the planet, so I knew…" Shane shrugs. "It was never going to happen."

Karma smiles. "That's why you and Amy get along so well," she says. "You knew how she felt."

"Amy's feelings were never the question, Karma."

She stares at the ground, not willing to let Shane see the tears that still come every time she thinks of how badly she fucked up with Amy.

"I told you," she says. "I'm not in love with her."

"Maybe," Shane says. "Maybe not. But even you have to admit that you're more than friends."

We were, Karma thinks. _Were_.

"You want to know how I feel, Shane?" she asks. "I feel like I'm losing her by degrees. A little bit at a time." Karma scuffs her feet on the ground and wishes desperately for another drink. "Best friend, more than a friend, girlfriend… it doesn't matter. I'm losing her. All because of something _I did_ and something I _couldn't _do."

Maybe it's the seven - eight? - drinks. Or maybe Karma's just tired of holding it in. Or maybe she just needs a friend and Shane will just have to do.

"Imagine if it were you and Liam," she says. "How would you feel?"

Shane doesn't have to imagine.

He's felt something like that every day since Liam and Karma met.

"You said I got everything I wanted," Karma says.

Shane nods. "Popularity. The hottest guy in school. Even now, everyone knows your name."

"I _did _want all that," she says, shocking him slightly with her honesty. "I _needed_ something else, something I…" Karma can't hide the tears now. "You don't like me. Lauren hates me. Reagan… she'd just as soon kick my ass as look at me."

Shane can't disagree.

She stands up, wobbling slightly. "Liam _says _he loves me, but he loves a lie. He doesn't know me," Karma says. "He loves this idea he has of me in his head - one I put there." The cup in her hand cracks beneath her fingers. "That's not love. That's not what I need."

She looks Shane right in the eyes, refusing - finally - to be ashamed anymore. "You were wrong," she says. "I didn't get everything I wanted. I _had_ it. And now, it's slipping away. And when I lose that… I won't have a thing."

It doesn't escape Shane's notice that she says 'when', not 'if'.

Karma turns and heads for the house. She'll get another drink. Or maybe two. Ten sounds like a nice round number for what she has to do.

She's going to lose. She _knows _that.

But she's not going down without a fight.

* * *

><p>The fight, Karma quickly realizes, isn't going to last long.<p>

And it's probably going to end ugly.

She spots Reagan and Amy almost immediately, dancing together in the living room. Amy's arms are around Reagan's waist and her head is on the older girl's shoulder.

It's the most peaceful Karma's seen Amy in months.

She remembers their dance from Homecoming. The way Amy's arms felt around her. How safe and loved she felt.

How she brushed that aside to stare at Liam fucking Booker.

_I'll make him fall in love with me._

Sometimes, when she's feeling particularly masochistic, Karma wonders what went through Amy's mind that night.

The terror of outing herself to her mother.

The pain of thinking Karma had fucked Liam.

The relief of finding out she hadn't.

And then, the pain. Again.

_I'll make him fall in love with me._

How Amy had kept her mouth shut, how she hadn't slapped her right upside the head, Karma will never know.

It must have taken some kind of willpower. Something beyond 'no I won't eat another cupcake' or 'I don't need to smoke anymore'.

Karma wishes she had that kind of willpower.

But she doesn't. She knows it. And soon, Amy will too.

She watches Amy and Reagan swaying together and she marvels at how they fit. How can someone neither of them even knew existed three months ago be such a perfect fit.

It's like Reagan was made for Amy.

Or to punish Karma.

Karma drains drink number nine and pours number ten. At this point, it's like pouring a cup of water in the ocean, but Karma doesn't care.

She takes a sip and feels her stomach lurch. It's a warning shot. And, for just a second, Karma considers pounding down number ten. She'd puke or pass out or both and Amy would, no doubt, come running.

Except, Karma _does_ doubt.

And that might be the worst bit of it all.

She drops the cup back onto the table and before she loses her courage - as if nine drinks worth of it could fade that fast - Karma makes her move. She crosses the room as quickly as she can, in part out of determination and in part because if she slows or stops she might fall down.

There's a soft 'oh, shit' from behind her and she recognizes Lauren's voice and _that's_ all the more reason to keep moving.

The plan - like even totally drunk Karma would do anything like this without a plan - is to tap Reagan on the shoulder, ask if she can cut in.

That's it. That's the extent of the plan.

It's a plan. She never said it was a _good_ one.

She gets as far as walking up to them and then she sees Amy's face, her eyes shut, a contented smile playing on her lips.

_You should be happy for her._

_That's what best friends do, right?_

Right?

Not that Karma's surprised, but it's Reagan who notices her first. Amy's girlfriend - and _God,_ how those words cut through Karma's mind - turns to her. "Karma?"

Amy's head snaps up, eyes popping open.

And, for the first time in months, Karma is sure Amy _sees_ her.

"Karms?" Amy steps out of Reagan's arms, worry creasing her forehead. She's seen Karma in every way imaginable over the years. But this?

Broken. Lost. Done with it all.

_This _is new.

"Karma?" Amy asks again. "You OK?"

"No."

It's one word. That's it. Karma wanted to say so much more. Everything she'd said to Shane. Every thought she had kept to herself and the ones she wouldn't even let herself think.

She wanted to say everything.

But, in the end, 'no' pretty much summed it up.

And then, everything seems to happen in slow-mo.

Her arm reaches out, wrapping around Amy's waist. Karma pulls the blonde to her, pressing their bodies flush.

Tomorrow, that will be the last thing Karma remembers.

Even after Liam shows her the video - _videos_ - she won't remember anything past this moment. She won't remember anything past how good it felt to hold Amy again, how right it felt for them to be in each other's arms.

Karma won't remember whatever happened to leave Liam unconscious on Shane's living room floor.

She won't remember brushing Amy's hair behind her ear.

Karma will have forgotten whatever it was that made Lauren sob, curling up against Theo's chest like a broken China doll.

She won't remember the feel of her hand on the back of Amy's neck, drawing her closer. She won't remember the realization that lit up Amy's eyes as she figured out what Karma was about to do, even before Karma did.

Karma will see it on the video. She'll see herself guiding Amy's lips to her, pressing them together.

She will watch herself kiss Amy, just like she watched Reagan do it before.

In some ways, Karma will at least appreciate the symmetry of it.

But then she'll see that other thing she won't remember - Amy pushing her away, slapping her so hard that even tomorrow morning, merely _seeing_ it will bring stinging tears to Karma's eyes.

And then Karma will see the look on Amy's face, the look she won't remember.

And she'll hear _those _words, the ones she won't believe she could ever forget.

That's when Karma will know.

This was one scab she should never have picked. Because this wound?

This one won't heal.


End file.
